#Man for someone who doesn’t have the spine to say what you wanna say off anon people like you sure

[idontmindifuforgetme]

you ignore my asks which means i know you think it’s true

bro I have a LIFE outside of TUMBLR I’m not gonna bother discoursing w ppl like you on a dying blogging platform. I’m here to post what I want then just leave it’s not that deep 😭😭

[slapmeshigaraki]

♡ can't get my mind off of possessive!xavier who gets off on seeing you get jealous too

"See, there was no reason to be pouting all night, hm?” You couldn’t help but write against the grip of the man behind you, his rough hand grabbing your face, forcing your eyes to meet his over your shoulder. He almost looked possessed, his normally sweet gaze was different now...soft blue eyes darkened as he looked at you, ravenous.

“Admit it—you were jealous. All that attitude the whole ride home, giving me the silent treatment—fuck—just because I was talking to another girl. You say I’m possessive, but I think you might be worse than me, princess.” He was almost growling into your ear, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine as his chest pushed you forward, forcing your tits against the sliding glass door that led out to the balcony. The heat from your sensitive nipples and your warm flesh causing the glass to fog up as he pressed you into it. The dim moonlight illuminated his face, eyes staring into your soul as he thrusted himself into you relentlessly. It was as if you were in a trance, mouth hanging open, panties down around your ankles, as Xavier forced himself in and out of your hole at a pace that made you clench around him just right. It was perfect—at least until that oh-so perfect pace was disrupted, the once full feeling suddenly gone as your face was jerked lightly from side to side.

“Unh uh, you don't get to play braindead slut this time. Pay attention—tell me what I wanna hear or I’ll stop.” You were whining now, your body quivering from the unexpected lack of stimulation.

“I was jealous.” You whispered, that same pout you’d worn all night was back on your face again, bottom lip poking out in shame at the confession, wide eyes looking up at the man that was towering over you. Both of your bodies were slick with sweat, chests rising and falling erratically amidst the tension, lips barely an inch apart. You wanted to taste him so bade, to feel the warmth of his tongue sliding in and out of your mouth as he grinded into you—just the though was making your clit ache between your thighs.

“Aw, you were?” Now he was the one to whine, a similar frown painting his face—mocking you. The sinister look in his eyes made even more wetness pool between your legs as he slowly slid himself back inside you, just the tip.

“Its not as fun when you’re not the one making me jealous, huh? Doesn’t feel good to see something that belongs to you with someone else, does it?” he said, reveling in the way you shook under his touch as he slid his fingers across your skin, slowly but surely making his way to that needy little spot hidden between your legs

“N-no…”

“No? But you always tell me it’s silly to be jealous, right? That I’m overreacting. Is that not what you’re doing right now?” His fingers lightly rubbed against your clit, your juices coating his skin as he spread your lips open, being careful not to push you back onto his cock any further.

“In fact, it’s not just silly for you to be jealous. It’s stupid. You are all I think about. I-” another inch slid inside of you, a soft gasp escaping both of your mouths, “Fuck—I dream about your face, your voice, your body—the way this fucking cunt sucks on the tip of my cock just right. We fit together so perfectly…for you to think that I could ever want someone else is just dumb, right?” With that, his hips slammed fully into you, pulling a scream out of your mouth as your eyes rolled back into your head, the nasty words making your cheeks grow hot from embarrassment.

“Xavier, oh my god. Pleaseee…please let me cum. I promise I won’t—“ Your words were abruptly cut off by one of his arms snaking around your body, his palm pushing itself against your plush lips, silencing your begging and muffling your whimpers as his other hand kept toying with your pussy, his fingers petting your just right like he'd done so many times before.

“Shut up. You’re dumb, remember? If you don’t have anything smart to say, then I don’t want to hear you at all.” His muscled arms held you up, keeping your knees from buckling beneath you as he quickened his pace. The most disgusting sounds filled the room, your hole squelching and squealing with every move Xavier made inside of you. His thick cock was forcing the sweetest cries out of your aching cunt, much to his amusement—a small smile creeping across his lips.

“You may be stupid, but this pussy is fucking brilliant. Listen to how nicely she to talks to me, none of that attitude I get from your filthy mouth, huh?” He pressed his palm further against your mouth, silencing your silly little whines and babblings almost entirely, “Shhhh… let me hear her, princess. Be good for me, yeah?.” You tried your best not to have to bite Xavier’s hand just to quieten yourself completely, but he could barely hear your moans any longer anyway—the sounds of his heavy breathing, your ass clapping against him, your little pussy sobbing out for relief was the only song playing in his head any longer.

“Shiittt she’s milking me so good. I think she likes having an audience. What a nasty girl…” An audience? Your face--he was almost sure that the expression alone was going to have him coming within the next two seconds. He couldn’t help but let out a round of laughter at the sight of your eyes widening at his words, brows furrowing as he continued fucking into you, his cock aching more with every thrust. His hand forcing your face forward back towards the glass. You squinted slightly, eyes adjusting to see a window belonging to the apartment across from yours. It was dimly lit, but there was a familiar figure staring back at you, her face contorted in disbelief.

“Getting all mad at me for talking to our new neighbor who was asking me what flavor muffins she should bring over to introduce herself to my sweet girlfriend… tsk.” Horrified, your new neighbor ran in the opposite direction, shielding her eyes from the lewd view of your nipples squished against the glass, mouth covered, a hand between your legs while Xavier held you hostage in his arms, his face flushed, hair glued to his forehead, both of your bodies sticky with each other’s sweat—how fucking filthy it must’ve been. "Doubt we'll be getting that tray of chocolate chip muffins anytime soon, huh baby?" You tried to turn your face away from the glass for the sudden fear that someone else may end up seeing the two of you, but it was no use, Xavier’s grip on your cheeks was far too tight.

“No no no don’t look away. Don’t you want everyone to know who I come home to every night? Don’t you want to show everyone who my good girl is? My sweet princess taking my cock so well, drooling into my hand—you’re mine. Say it.” Your lips were suddenly freed by his palm, a string of saliva glistened between your mouth and his flesh as he pulled it back. You were sure to respond quick, realizing that if you didn’t use your brief liberation wisely, Xavier had every intention of punishing you for the rest of the night.

“Yours I’m yours. I belong to you—please fuck, you feel so good inside of me. I can’t hold it anymore please let me cum.” A strike of lightning rippled through your body as the tip of his cock finally pushed against your g-spot, once, then it was twice, and then a third time—over and over again without rest until your sweet screams flooded his ears once more. You tried to squirm away, fingers reaching back, desperately trying to pull off of you just a little so you could catch your breath, but he was quick to grab you, forcing your arm behind your back, creating an ever deeper arch in your spine.

“Where you running off to? Do you want to cum or not, I’m confused, princess? You pushing me away—does it not feel good?” His lips were against your ear again, tongue running over the shell, gently biting your flesh just the way you liked as he continued abusing your poor aching hole.

“No no so good—feel so good, can’t cum yet though. Please god please.”

“Poor baby, why can’t you cum yet, sweet girl? Is it not enough? Do I need to rub you faster, hm? Pinch this little clit between my fingers—oh look at that, she’s so swollen against my hand. What's the matter, don't you like when I play with you?” You mind was so clouded, tongue hanging out of your mouth as his lips licked and sucked your skin, teeth nipping your neck, leaving his mark as he forced more of those precious begs out of you. You were close, so painfully close that you were drooling at the thought of finally getting to cum around him, painting his fingers with your sweet juices, clenching around his cock as he stretched you around him—but you knew better.

“Need permission to cum please Xavier can I cum. Please please I promise—mmmh—I promise not to get jealous again. I’m yours.”

“Ohh you promise? Maybe you aren’t that dumb after all, baby. Or maybe you’ll just say anything to get me to let you cum. Is that it? Are you a liar, princess?” His fingers stalled between your legs, hips suddenly not snapping forward into you anymore. It wasn't more than a second later that you'd started begging for him to start up again, your body burning to feel him back inside of you once more. He thought you were so cute like this—so pliable, so desperate for his touch you were willing to say anything just to feel him.

“Nooo not lying not—I wouldn’t lie to you. Please don’t stop.”

“Yeah, you telling the truth? You know dumb girls don’t get to cum. But you’re not dumb anymore, right? You my smart girl, princess?”

“Yes yes I’m telling the truth. Smart, I’m gonna be smart, please I just need—“ Every inch of his length sunk back into you at once, warm fingers unexpectedly gliding over your slippery clit again.

“Good girl, that’s what I wanna hear. Cum for me, go ahead. It’s okay princess, let me feel it, please cum on my cock. I know you can do it, so fucking pretty like this. I need it, come on do a good job for me. ” So you came—squirming and writhing in Xavier’s strong arms as he held you close, whispering soft praises in your ear. Curses and moans left your lips, your arm finally going limp in his grasp, thighs squeezing and clamping down around his hand as his fingers flitted against your clit while you slowly came down.

For some reason though, just as you were catching your breath, muscles finally relaxing after the waves of pleasure dissipated and you felt Xavier’s length sliding out of you—your felt him forcing himself back in, pushing your sloppy walls apart again without any warning. He wasn’t trying to fuck you fast anymore, now he was fucking you hard, stretching you open agonizingly slow before sliding back out and and doing it all over again. The overstimulation caught up to you as you realized…he wasn’t close to being done.

“Xavier wait, I’m too sensitive to—oh my god,” You tried to push yourself away with your free hand, but he only ended up grabbing that one and holding it hostage behind your back as well.

“No no I’m not stopping. C’mon that’s not fair is it? Didn’t anyone ever tell you that you have to take care of your things, hm?” You were screaming now, the sensations overwhelming your body as you cried out his name.

“You’re mine, but I am yours. You have to take care of me too, yeah, baby? Please, let me cum for you too, hm? Don’t you want to make me feel good?” he said, pressing a soft kiss into the crook of your neck.

“Mhm wanna make you cum too.” He knew you meant it, despite the way the tears stung the inner corners of your eyes and your soft tummy tightened and convulsed around him, your body falling limp in his arms. He knew that you wanted him to fill you up, to feel his sticky cum dripping out of you has he pulled out, to have his thick fingers stuffing his babies back inside of you. You were so perfect for him—how could he ever want anyone else?

“Aw, that’s my smart girl.”

♡ a/n: ummmm had this idea sitting in the drafts for quite a bit, but the new banner dropping finally inspired me to finish it !! quite short and not super edited but i hope u enjoy,, happy friday angels xx

[lipglossanon]

Dirty Little Secret

Stepson!Leon S. Kennedy x Stepmom!Reader <one shot>

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, pseudo incest, cheating, loveless marriage? lol, mommy kink, breeding kink, mentions of lactation kink, dirty talk, noncon, slight somno, mention of a rape play scenario, unprotected sex, creampie

not proofread ✍️ just smut

title from Dirty Little Secret by The All American Rejects

You thought it was love. This guy wined and dined you then showed you the world. So when he proposes to you only three months into your relationship, you’re so smitten that you agree before he even finishes asking. 

It must’ve been the honeymoon phase because a year later, you’re stuck at home while he galivants around the globe for his business. It’s not like you have a hard time, but you’re lonely, done begging for attention from a man who apparently just wanted someone to live in his empty house while he’s gone. 

Then after months of stilted phone calls and cut short video chats, he drops by only to surprise you with a son from a previous marriage. Something you knew nothing about. After introducing Leon to you, he leaves him there—some flimsy excuse of letting you two get to know each other—and is off again once more. 

Leon smiles at you as his dad leaves, “Sorry to drop in like this.”

Your frown smooths out as you take a deep breath, “Not your fault, sorry if I’m off kilter. He didn’t even tell me about you til now.”

You wince after saying the words out loud but Leon only laughs. 

“It’s okay. I’ll stay out of your hair as much as possible.”

You wave your hand, “Don’t be silly, it’ll be nice to have company again.”

He smiles again but this one makes you feel a little more on edge, something about the way it doesn’t quite meet his eyes. 

“Well then, I’m sure we’ll get on like a house on fire.”

You settle into a new routine, Leon fitting into your day to day pretty easily. He’s sarcastic and mouthy, but it beats only having yourself for company. Your husband dropped off his son in late January and it’s now early May; it’s like you blinked and realized you haven’t even had anyone else visit except for Leon’s actual mom. (She’s surprisingly a sweetheart and quite helpful even if she makes Leon all moody to have her in your shared space). 

It’s after one such visit that left Leon in an irritable mood where you decide to have a little movie night in order to cheer him up. You’re unsure as to what started it this time, but the ex missus just gave you a quick smile and wave goodbye as Leon stormed off upstairs. Taking in a deep breath, you rap your knuckles on his closed door and listen for any movement.

Half a minute passes by before you hear him walk over and open the door. You take in his sweats and loose white tee. Good, it doesn’t look like he's headed out—you tilt your head before looking back up into his face. 

“Yes?” He raises an eyebrow and crosses his arms, a corner of his lips ticking up into a half smile. 

“Wanna watch some shitty horror movies and order pizza?” You smile, pleased with yourself when he drops his arms. 

“Sure,” he shrugs, tossing his phone back onto his bedspread and pushing you away from his door, closing it behind him, “w’nna order a cheese pizza?”

“Sounds good,” you lead him back downstairs, flopping down on the couch and grabbing your phone. 

Leon sits on the cushion next to you, leaning over to watch as you scroll through the app. 

“Want any sides or anything?” You ask, attention still on your phone. 

“Pizza’s plenty.”

You feel his breath ghost across your neck and it sends a chill down your spine. Scrunching your shoulders up, you laugh and bump against his side. 

“That tickles, Leon,” you shift a little and you feel him move to face the television. 

Once you place the order, you lock your phone and sink into the couch. Leon’s close enough you can feel his body heat, but you know if you move he’ll end up next to you again. It’s something you’ve noticed over the time that he’s stayed here; you’ve only brought it up once and he admitted he likes being close since he misses his mom. 

You frown to yourself as Leon channel surfs, not wanting to start any movies only for it to be interrupted by the delivery guy. For him to miss his mom so much, he’s always pissy when she visits. Maybe he’s just salty that she let him end up living here with you? Glancing over at him, he notices you looking and shoots you a grin. 

“Have any idea on what movie we start with?”

You return his grin and drum your fingers against your thigh, “Hmmm, you ever watch Spookies?”

He shakes his head, “I’m assuming it’s bad?”

“The worst but in the best way,” you laugh.

He studies you for a moment. 

“Thanks for trying to cheer me up.”

Giddy warmth bubbles in your chest, “Of course, Leon. I know the situation probably isn’t ideal, but I’ll take care of you.”

He laughs low in his throat, “We’re nearly the same age.”

You wave him off, “Yeah, yeah, but I’m still older though.”

Lapsing into a companionable silence, you mindlessly watch as Leon zips through different shows until the doorbell rings. After stuffing your faces with pizza, you settle in comfortably on the couch, feet laying over Leon’s lap after he tugged your legs away from you. 

“No reason to stay curled up like that,” he pats your calf. 

Unsure how to feel, you eventually relax into him. If it doesn’t bother him, then why should it bother you? The heat from his lap must lull you to sleep because the next thing you know is blinking your eyes open to some random movie playing on the tv. Another beat and you groggily glance down your body at the new weight pressing you into the cushions. 

Sandy blonde hair fills your vision as you feel Leon softly suck a nipple into his mouth. Without you noticing, he has pushed your flimsy shirt up and tugged your bra cups down. Squirming under him only leads to him sighing softly, eyes fluttering shut as he licks around your stiff peaks. 

“Stop, stop,” you pant, feeling sluggish and out of sorts, arms and legs feeling wooden as sleep tries to cling to your senses.

Leon only laughs and goes back to softly sucking on your nipples, mouth drifting from one hard bud to the other with quick swipes of his tongue. 

“But mommy, you said you’d take care of me,” his low voice raises the hair on your arms, “mmm, and what I really need is to suck your sexy tits.”

There’s no denying the rush of slick that fills the gusset of your panties. 

“S’wrong, Leon,” you counter, weakly crying out when he gently bites your nipple. 

“Maybe, but I think you need this, need me to take care of you. After all, my dad’s not going to,” he growls and roughly sucks the puckered skin around your stiff bud, “you need a husband who wants to stuff your hot little pussy.”

A loud keening moan leaves your mouth before you can clamp your lips shut.

His eyes are bright as a grin lights up his face, “See? C’mon, no one has to know that you let your stepson dick you down on the couch.”

Hips jumping, you mewl as he goes back to lapping at your nipples, hands coming up to grope the soft fat of your breasts. 

“Been waiting for this,” he murmurs into your sternum, mouth leaving a trail of hot kisses across your skin, “fuck, I’ve wanted you so bad, mommy.”

The condescension in that one word makes you drip, pussy throbbing for more than just words. 

“W-we shouldn’t though,” you try to get a grip on yourself, hands hovering over his hair, “god, I’m married to your father.”

“Is he here? Is he ever here?” He raises up and sneers at you, “never around when you need’em huh?”

Raising up onto his haunches he gives you a nasty smirk, “But that’s why you have me now. I’m gonna pound your hot little pussy day and night. Maybe it’ll even make you a real mommy.”

“Leon!” You gasp, nipples tightening at the thought, hands digging into the couch.

But he’s telling the truth. Your husband is never home— hasn’t called you back and barely replies to texts. You’ve been lonely and neglected even before Leon got here; so what if it’s wrong? It won’t kill anyone just to go along with him this one time. So that’s what you decide to tell him. 

“This one time,” you whisper, biting your lip as you give in to him, “just once.”

He laughs, “Sure, I can work with that.”

Once turns into twice. 

“It’s still just the one time,” you pant as he fucks into your squelching pussy, face mashed against the armrest of the couch, “it’s still the same round.”

“Sure, mommy,” he murmurs in your ear and you clamp down on him tighter, “whatever you say.”

Which turns into three and four and then five…

By the next afternoon, you're bouncing on your stepson’s fat cock in your own marriage bed. 

“Fuck, fuck, I need it, please, I wanna cum,” you whimper, grinding down onto Leon’s dick, “please.”

“Take it then, mommy, take your son’s cock deep in that little pussy,” he growls, thumb rubbing your clit in tight rough circles. 

“Yes, yes, yes,” you chant, eyes rolling back as Leon’s fat tip kisses your cervix, “god, it’s so good.”

“Yeah? Better than dad’s?” Leon asks, flashing you a smug little smile. 

“Uh huh,” you whine, hands pressing on his broad chest so you can ride him harder, “you’re the best fuck I’ve ever had.”

“Goddamn,” he growls, grabbing your waist and flipping you onto your back. 

Pulling halfway out, he bullies his cock back into your sopping wet hole, pace fast and hard making you wail as he rams against your g-spot. 

“Tell me mommy, tell me who’s making this fat pussy feel so good,” he pinches your nipples, “c’mon mommy, say it.”

“You,” you whimper, tears clumping your lashes, “you’re making mommy’s pussy feel so good.”

“Who?”

“My son,” you cry out as he tugs your nipples roughly, “my son’s filling my pussy and making me cum.”

“Good girl, mommy,” he coos mockingly and you squeeze his cock, pussy walls snug and wet around his thick length. 

“I’ve given you so many creampies,” he sighs, “fuck, I hope one of them takes. Wanna drink your milk.”

You shudder, hips stilling, “That’s so—”

“Hot?” He slaps your thigh and you start grinding on his cock again, “these tits leaking milk for me would be a dream come true. Let me breed you, mommy.”

“I can’t,” you mewl, clit throbbing as you rock your hips into his thrusts, “can’t get knocked up by my stepson.”

Leon groans, “It’ll just be the one time. Besides, I’ve been dumping load after load into this tight little cunt. We both know you want it, mommy. Making that pussy crave to have me stuffing her to the brim.”

You lean forward, face pressing against his neck as you moan brokenly. 

“I shouldn’t,” you hiccup, hips writhing as Leon reaches underneath you to grip your ass. 

“It’ll be our little secret,” he humps your pussy, cock knocking against your cervix and making you squeal, “let me breed you, mommy. Let your son breed your fat pussy.”

“I’m gonna cum,” you slur, mouth panting and drooling against his skin, “oh god, you’re gonna make me cum.”

“Next time, I want you to fight me,” he whispers in your ear and you moan, “fight me so when I pin you down, I’ll be raping your hot wet pussy until you cream all over my cock, mommy.”

Your nails dig into his back and you scream, orgasm wiping out your thoughts as your body thrashes under Leon.

“I’m cumming, fuck, mommy, gonna fill you up again,” he rambles, hips pistoning his cock in and out of your pussy as you continue to orgasm. 

The last thing you see is Leon’s blue eyes staring down at you as your pussy milks his cock while he spurts rope after rope of thick cum inside your clenching hole. 

You wake up sometime later with Leon running his fingers along your arm and shoulder. 

“You okay?”

You hum and nod, stretching out along the bed, feeling a slight twinge in your hips. 

“May’ve over done it,” you mumble, rubbing your eyes with the palms of your hands. 

Leon laughs and drops a kiss to your head. 

“Yeah I got that after you passed out.”

Giggling, you turn on your side to face him. 

“Need to drink more water I guess.”

He nods, a funny sort of smile overtaking his features. 

“You’re not gonna tell anyone right?”

You scoff and roll your eyes, “Why would I? Even if we’re both adults, I don’t think anyone’s gonna be happy it happened.”

Sighing, you push up until you can swing your legs over the side of the bed. 

“I’m gonna take a shower.”

Standing up, your thighs shake but you’re able to walk over to the en-suite bathroom. At the doorway, you turn back to see Leon staring at you, a hungry look in his eyes. You bite your lip knowing what you’re about to say isn’t a good idea, but what the hell. You’re already in it this far. 

“If you wash my back, I’ll wash yours,” tone flirty as you smile at him. 

Not waiting for an answer, you walk into the bathroom, listening as the sheets ruffle from Leon climbing out of bed to follow you.  

[gingerteafairy]

abductor hacker machine (dave lizewski x reader)

You’re Dave’s gym crush. He’s never skipping leg day again.

tags n warnings: college!dave, language, highly suggestive, mentions of handjob, flirting, gym terms. word count: 2.3k masterlist

Dave had arrived at the gym early, excitement buzzing through him because it was back and arms day. The gym wasn’t too crowded, and Todd was just coming in—it felt like the perfect day for an upper-body workout.

“Hey, man. Feeling good today,” Todd greeted him with a quick high five before heading over to stretch.

“Yeah…” Dave nodded, walking to the pull-up bar. He grabbed it, letting his body hang as he stretched his spine, easing into a light isometric hold.

“Dude, I don’t know how you even manage pull-ups. That’s the hardest thing I’ve ever tried,” Todd said, his voice tinged with genuine admiration as Dave began the exercise with surprising finesse. His muscles flexed and tightened with each smooth motion, displaying a control that came from dedication.

That’s the sight you walked into when you entered the gym. The hot nerd was effortlessly pulling himself up on the bar, his form flawless, his focus unshakable. You couldn’t look away, watching until he finally finished, wiping sweat off his brow with the hem of his shirt. When your eyes met, Dave froze for a moment, then followed you with his gaze as you walked toward the squat rack. It was leg day for you.

He didn’t have a choice—he had to say something to his gym crush.

“Dude, where are you going?” Todd asked, puzzled.

“Uhm…leg press,” Dave replied quickly, his tone distracted as his focus stayed locked on you.

“Someone's not skipping leg day for once,” he shook his head, handing a dumbbell.

He watched you doing your exercise, trying to figure out the best thing to do or say. The best option was to go over to you, so he walked toward you with determined steps—but by the time he got there, you had already finished. Awkwardly, he turned around and headed for the calf machine instead. That was the next best option. Pretending nothing happened, however, was a mistake.

“You're such a loser, Dave Lizewski,” he muttered under his breath, grabbing any random weight to load onto the machine.

“Hi, excuse me.”

Dave could barely believe it when he turned around and saw you standing there. He almost dropped the weight and had to lean on the machine to strike a casual pose. Oh my God, she came over. She’s talking to me. She’s actually here.

“I didn’t catch that. What did you say?” he lied, removing one earbud. Of course, he had heard you. He just wanted to make sure this was real.

“I said hi,” you repeated, pulling out one of your own earbuds.

“Uh… hi. I’m great, and you?” he stammered awkwardly, noticing the slight confusion flicker across your face at his strange response.

“I’m glad you’re good…” you laughed softly, resting your hands on your hips. “Um… how much longer are you going to be on this machine?”

Idiot, idiot, idiot. Of course, it’s about the machine.

“I just started, but… d’you wanna share?” he asked hopefully. However, when you glanced at the amount of weight loaded onto the machine, you immediately decided against it. How on earth is this guy pushing all that weight with his calves?

“No, it’s fine… I’ll wait,” you replied, heading to a corner to check your phone while you waited.

Dave closed his eyes, cursing himself for how poorly the entire interaction had gone. He wiped the sweat from his face, which had only increased after talking to you, and rushed through the exercise with poor form, desperate to finish quickly. Without looking back, he walked away, leaving the machine free for you.

“Fucking idiot, i wanna die” Dave muttered as he walked over to Todd, who was finishing his shoulder workout.

“Hey, dude. Did you talk to her?” Todd asked, grunting as he set his weights down.

“I did, but now I’m gonna have to do every single posterior chain exercise known to man so she doesn’t think i’m a total loser,” Dave blurted, running his hand through his hair. His eyes wandered to you across the gym, finishing your set. “Fuck. I’m never coming back to this gym ever again.”

“Relax, man. She’s probably not even thinking about it,” Todd tried to calm him down, noticing Dave rubbing his forehead and checking his pulse.

“She is. She is, Todd. She's so fucking perfect and I just said do you wanna share like a total moron.” He whimpered, scratching his head.

“So, what’s the plan now? Glutes?” Todd chuckled, but Dave’s eyes lit up.“No… don’t tell me—are you serious?”

“I’m doing everything. It’s important for testosterone production,” Dave mumbled, walking over to the hip abduction machine and staring at it like it was some alien contraption. “Shit… I have no idea how this thing works.”

He sat down, looking around desperately for help—any help—praying for someone to rescue him. “Hey, God. I know i haven't been the best dude on earth, but please. I really need help, i need to do it. Send someone. Anyone. Just don't send a scary dude, please.”

Unfortunately for him, it was you who got there first.

“Just starting?” you inquired, placing your water bottle on the holder.

“Uh… yeah, I… uh, wanna try?” he murmured, blinking in slight panic as he stood up from the machine to let you take over. You smiled, taking the opportunity and settling in to begin your exercise.

And God, Dave had to muster every ounce of self-control not to stare at your legs or the muscles working with precision, he didn't even want to mention the word glutes because it seemed so fucking wrong in this moment. He turned to face the wall instead.

“These atoms are… amazing. Science is really evolving these days!” he blurted to the man next to him, pointing at the wall. “I’ve never seen anything like it. Is it some kind of new cement?”

“It’s plaster,” the guy replied, frowning in confusion before returning to his workout. “Weirdo.”

Dave turned back toward you, forcing himself to focus on your face. But then he saw you finishing and standing to the side. He had no choice now but to actually use the machine. Swallowing hard, he sat down.

“This can’t be that hard,” he whispered to himself, loading the machine with the maximum weight. He tried to open his legs, but the machine didn’t budge an inch.

“Wow, this machine is different, I know it. Heavier than I expected,” he chuckled nervously. You bit your lip to suppress a laugh of your own—it was pretty clear to you that this guy had never touched this machine before.

“Here, lemme help,” you offered, moving closer to him. He froze but nodded, letting you adjust his position.

“Sit back a little and tilt your torso forward,” you instructed, placing your hand lightly on the machine. “Set it to 30. Then, open your legs as wide as you can. You’ll feel better if you keep your glutes really really up, okay?”

“Okay,” he muttered, adjusting the settings. He tried again but barely moved the machine, the faintest clinking sound coming from the weights. She’s going to think I’m so weak. I'm dead. Dead, buried and dusted.

“Want me to show you?” you asked, and before he could think, he nodded. He jumped up, letting you take his place, but instantly regretted it the moment you sat down.

“No… uh, no need to worry about it…” he stuttered, flushing red as you adjusted the weight and got into position.

“I don’t mind helping,” you replied with a small smile, demonstrating the movement with flawless form. “Like this—glutes up and open as wide as possible.”

“Jesus Christ,” Dave squeaked, covering his face to hide his embarrassment and to resist the urge to glance back at you.

“So, you’ll want to do this fifteen times. Watch carefully, so you don’t mess it up,” you explained, your voice teasing, aware of the effect you were having on him. It was clear he was trying his best not to lose his composure, and you couldn’t deny he was adorable.

“Got it. I understand. Amazing. Perfect,” he blurted quickly, stuffing his hand in his pocket as if to shield himself from… whatever was happening internally. And this whatever was his cock awakening every single time you opened your legs and he could see your thighs and especially, the thing between them.

“Great. Want to give it a try?” you asked, standing up and stepping closer to him—closer than strangers typically stood.

“Uh… I, uh…” He took a deep breath, catching the faint scent of your perfume and noticing the sheen of sweat on your forehead. “I’m gonna go to the bathroom. Thank you for everything, the instructions and everything, all. Good… good workout!” And with that, he bolted.

You watched him rush to the locker room, nearly bumping into everyone in his path. He was so adorable. If only you knew his name. As you tried to figure out a way to ask him without it seeming weird, Dave locked himself in a bathroom stall, sitting on the toilet and contemplating his situation. And, to be honest, it wasn’t looking great.

“Shit,” he muttered, glancing around, straining his ears to confirm no one else was in the bathroom, downing his shorts and boxers.

He took a deep breath, touching his erection, whimpering in the exact moment he thought about you and your hands with adorable little calluses from the workout routine, rubbing on his length. His cum spread on your gym top and sweaty face from bouncing on him like a fucking squat session.

“No, I can’t do this.” he murmured, dressing himself once again, sparing the thoughts away.

He left the stall, splashing water on his face and waiting for his body to calm down. Then, he looked at the paper glued to the bathroom mirror with a comic sans writing.

Hey, champ.

Please don't masturbate in the bathroom. It might clog the toilet. Thanks and good exercise!

- beast mode gym support

“you must be kidding me…” He cursed, splashing water to his face once again and looking at the mirror. One guy gave him a once-over, chuckling at his bulge. Embarrassed, Dave frowned and hurried out of the bathroom, only to come face-to-face with you.

“Oh, hi,” you greeted, breaking the silence first and meeting his eyes.

“Hey…” he replied, swallowing hard. “It’s super crowded in there—the men’s room.”

“Yeah…” you agreed, keeping your gaze on him. You wanted an opportunity, and here it was. “Hey… what’s your name? I mean, I taught you earlier, but I never asked.”

“Dave. Dave Lizewski,” he replied, grinning like an idiot, relieved to finally have a normal conversation. When you said your name, it was like a little piece of heaven to him. Beautiful, just like you. It fits you perfectly.

“It’s easier for me because of college. I think we always come around the same time,” you added, stepping away from the bathroom entrance and into the hallway.

“I’m in college too,” he blurted out quickly. “Uh… engineering. I used to draw a lot, and ended up liking it. Also because my friend Todd decided on it, and I’m terrible at making decisions.”

“That’s really cool. And tough,” you laughed, and for the first time all day, he didn’t feel like a total idiot. “If you ever need help, I’m here.”

“Of course… I mean, thanks for the help earlier with the… glutes,” he chuckled nervously, joining in when you laughed too. Please, smile more. Smile at me again.

“Sure,” you replied, taking note of how much more handsome he was up close. “So… see you tomorrow?”

“Yes, tomorrow. Definitely,” he said quickly, his eyes lighting up. “But tomorrow I’m not doing glutes… it’s back day.”

“Great. That way you can help me,” you said without thinking, surprised at your own boldness.

Dave nodded, his heart pounding harder than any cardio session could ever manage. “Yeah, of course. I won’t embarrass myself with that one.”

“You didn’t embarrass yourself,” you replied with a laugh, tilting your head slightly. God, this guy is so handsome.

“Oh, come on, now you’re just lying,” he joked, and you opened your mouth in mock disbelief.

“Careful, Lizewski. I might do heavy glute exercises on you,” you teased, though the playful threat only made Dave’s face turn as red as his gym shorts. “I mean… glute exercises with you. Uh, you know… something intense.”

“You can throw whatever you want at me,” he blurted out, biting his lip. “I mean weights. I can handle a lot of weight… like, a lot of weight…” he breathed, glancing at your thighs, imagining his hands lifting them up to his waist.

“That’s… good to know,” you replied, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. You blinked, realizing how bold you were being, flirting with a guy in the middle of the gym hallway, probably with half the room overhearing. “Uh, so… Dave…”

“Do you have a number?” he asked suddenly, his hand forming a fist as he mentally kicked himself for such a clumsy question. “I mean, of course, you have a number. Everyone does. I just… wanted to know if you’d share it, you know… so we could talk about, um, workouts?”

“Workouts, right,” you said, trying not to laugh as you swallowed the lump in your throat. You recited your number, and Dave immediately pulled out his phone to save it, as if it were the most valuable treasure in the world.

“Thank you,” he murmured, grinning as he slid his phone into his pocket, treating it like a priceless artifact.

“No problem. See you tomorrow,” you mentioned, finally retreating, your face flushed with both nerves and excitement.

“Yeah, tomorrow…” he murmured, lifting a hand in a small wave.

“Close your mouth, man. You look like an idiot,” Todd teased as he approached. Dave nudged him lightly, but Todd only laughed harder. “You got the girl. Congrats.”

“Not yet,” Dave replied, watching as you finally walked out the door. “But I will. Even if I have to do the hip abductor every fucking day.”

“Alright, Nicki Minaj. Let's eat some protein,” Todd quipped, earning an eye-roll from Dave, who grabbed his backpack and followed Todd out. As they left, Dave’s mind was entirely consumed with thoughts of you—and he mentally reviewed every back exercise to make sure he’d never mess up in front of you again.

[m0chisenpai]

Hi! Can you do a Armand x Fem!reader x Louis? She would be an assistant of Daniel’s. They have sorta a thing for her but are trying to ease up because she’s not as open to the whole camp thing or lowkey doesn’t believe them.

off the record

˚｡⋆ louis de pointe du lac x black!fem!reader x armand

in which Daniel neglected to coach you how to deal with the behind the scenes of the creative process

author note: I had too much fun writing this, I love the idea of this trio so much

There takes a certain level of thick skin to work for Daniel Molloy. He wasn't a terrible boss. Just a difficult old man with extremely particular needs and ways he worked. But when he found you, you were an intern with well regarded credentials and grades, but according to your counselor you were headstrong and outspoken.

He accepted your application instantly and by the next year you were his official, and most longstanding, assistant. You juggled his interviews and meetings with editors, and only recently have you begun to manage his doctors appointments.

You traveled with him, it was a non-negotiable that you were to come and expenses were covered, but Dubai was the last thing you'd expected. You’d been nearly to all the states, but for Daniel’s health anything out the country was once in a while and planned carefully.

The first night of the interview you aren’t present. Daniel can tell when he stops by your room, how your eyes droop. Your feet shuffle to greet him at the door and when you speak your words are mumbled.

He lets you sleep, but he won't say its out of care, that he's filled with guilt for dragging you into a penthouse of supernatural apex killers. "Get to sleep unless you wanna read through my mess of a notes kid." He raises a brow that you hum and nod at closing the door so you can return to the warm sheets of the bed. After that you are a fly on the wall just as he always instructed you to be.

Beside him, eyes down, fingers moving and taking notes when he mutters something to you.

Louis asks who you are on the third night, "I never took you for a man who needs help Daniel." You won't admit, but your heart picks up, but you keep yor eyes on the computer screen and let Daniel respond for you.

"Not an intern, she's one of the few ones who didn't run crying after a week working for me."

Your lips turn up at this, one of the few moments he would ever compliment you.

"She truly is like you." His eyes must be on you again, but a shiver washes dwn your spine. Like someones nail ghosts the skin on your back, trailing down your spine. And another hand, caresses the back of your neck.

"Stay out out my mind," you mumble.

"My apologies, just wanted to know about our surprise second guest." Now you dare to look up at him. Ghosts, goblins, vampires werewolves were for shows pandering toward a female audience that wanted to drool over men too beautiful and perfect to ever enter their mundane lives.

You scoff and return your focus to the notes in front of you. "Save the immortal hack for Daniel, Mr.Du Lac."

Your skin crawls at the way he tilts his head ever so slightly, and in that cocky drawl offers another apology.

"Mr Du Lac and his companion would like to dine with you."

You assume it's in regards to the interviews. You bring your computer and personal notepad along with Daniel's. But what you are met with are two wine glasses side by side paired with the men on the couch, one sits in front of them.

Their gazes are unblinking as you enter, setting your things and carefully crossing one leg over the other.

"I'm sorry we are meeting so late, or would it be early Mr.Du Lac."

"Call me Louis, the pleasure is mine. My companion Armand wanted to join our meeting this evening."

Armand creeps you out the moment your eyes lock, how his golden eyes stare you, analyzing you. He isn't as old as Louis. he actually seems to be the age of some of the TA's from school. Though you'd prefer it if it were just Louis and you. You can manage being alone with the latter.

"Daniel tells us you think none of this to be real." Ah, so it does speak.

"It's true. I find the supernatural charade boring," you pick up the yellow pad and pen. "But I'm not paid to to dig any deeper than he asks me to. I polish and prime what he asks, and he does all the writing."

"You weren't able to join the first interview because too were tired. I could hear your heart the entire time, you didn't sleep. Kept tossing and turning the entire night." Now you look at Louis, here he goes again.

"An easy observation, can we please focus on-"

"Thoughts were racing an awful lot too," Louis looks up in fake thought "is any of this worth it, why waste my time on a rich hack. I could be back home working on my portfolio."

Once again you cut him off. Pinching the bridge of your nose, "another keen observation please try and do better, now in session 2-"

"Your father took your mother here." Armand speaks up now and your heart stops, "those earrings she gifted you were from here. In fact in your dreams the previous evening you dreamt of taking them both here. You started planning it with the money that will come out of this interview."

Every word accelerates your heart, it makes Louis smile "Careful cher, your heart might beat out your chest."

Your hands shake as they swipe the glass of wine in front of you, you take two large gulps. Clutching it for comofrt.

"My apologies, I did not wish to cause any distress."

"I'm sorry, I need a moment." You leave your things behind and return to your room that night. You feel childish locking the door behind you and running to the bathroom where you stop for a moment closing that door behind you as well locking it and taking the hottest of showers. The next morning a letter from the two sits by breakfast along with your things in a neat pile.

Eerily it is exactly what you were thinking of yesterday morning, it is french toast made from the fluffiest brioche. With a side of bacon, turkey, you hated pork. Armand asks to speak to you while Daniel rests along with Louis.

Once you eat and shower quickly putting on a sweater to combat the chill you find him in the study.

He sits, almost like he knew you would come.

"It was not our intent to alarm you" his eyes follow you as you sit. "You did not rest last night because of us. Please use tonight to rest."

You refuse to look at him, favoring the thread on your sweaters sleeve.

"You are more than qualified to work for any other reporter on your own, yet you work for...him. Why?"

"He was the only one to look pass the observations of my advisor, I wasn't going to be just an errand girl. Not too many publishers cared for my opinions. I was too blunt and rough along the edges to be a writer."

"You didn't believe Mr.Molloy was interviewing a vampire yet you still followed him here."

"It's not my book. I'm a fly on the wall remember?"

"But if it were your story?"

You pause in thought, and now you look away into those unsettling eyes after a moment. "I would have interviewed Claudia had she survived. I feel her story needs to be heard."

You answer more of his prodding questions till you return to your room for lunch. A wrap of some sort with nuts and fruits on the side. And a pile of little girls diaries with white gloves and a note to handle with caution.

Armand won't voice his affinity for you as Louis does. You won't admit the way his eyes settle on you as you enter the room makes you preen, makes your heart fuzzy and your head feel like it wants to float away.

The interview goes on tonight with Armand joining. They once more talk about Lestat. You try and fight your eyes from rolling as you read through an email.

'If I hear his name one more time I might gouge my ears out.'

'Don't torture yourself like that cher.' Your eyes look to him, but he remains focused on Daniel, listening to Armand. How does one multitask like that? Two conversations at once must be hard.

'Years of practice.'

'And what's with all this chere nonsense?'

'Would you prefer your name instead?'

'No' your cheeks warm in embarassment "I...enjoy it."

"Get me some pictures of this theatre." Daniel's instructions get your attention, "and whatever memorabilia you can find." You nod typing that onto your list of many other things to do.

'I will help you with that tonight, after the session I've arranged for dinner tonight' Armand now stares at you and that damned feeling begins to creep back in 'no pork as per your request.' You hate how quick you are to forgive him. But he slowly is earning your trust again.

Daniel coughs obnoxiously getting the elder vampires attention. "You were saying?" This time when you look down, a smile only the pair can detect makes its way upon your lips.

They stare at you less, leave your mind alone as per your request. And indulge in your blunt questions. Each night you find yourself slowly feeling less discomfort. You almost wish you could stay, you think to yourself one night now dining with the two looking at pictures of Louis in his younger years.

He sits beside you, smiling as he watches your hands carefully hold the photos from their time in France.

"No fair, Paris is top of my bucket list."

"I'd be more than happy to take you," Louis gives you that smirk which you roll your eyes in playfulness at.

"Sure you will."

"We could take you anywhere you would like" Armand states.

"Ibizia?"

"Gladly."

"Bali."

"Sure."

Even though you still doubt their supernatural nature. You indulge them. Unknown that just as much as you have them wrapped around your finger, they have you caught in a web.

And they'll patiently wait for you to realize that there are some beings whose hearts you should never toy with. For the results afterwards, are eternal.

[tenjikufag]

Silly ask but, is it alright to request to see a Laios x male Reader story, where the reader is a transman? Maybe to how Laios would react to that information or how the reader would go about/could bring that up to Laios, esp for how scary it is to bring it up to a loved one. …and possibly for it to be fluffy/smut (stupidly sweet kind…?), fluff (maybe angst if you wanna throw in some tussle XD) will do just as good :}

Thank you if you see this! I enjoy what you make!! :D

No Problem.

Laios Touden x Trans!Male Reader

-fluff, light angst, comfort, ftm!reader, afab anatomy mentions, coming out, pre-op reader (no top/bottom surgery), hrt characteristics (T-Dick), fluffy smut

-(please proceed with caution if you are uncomfortable with said topics x.)

-thank you for the request, sorry it took so long to get around to. This man would be the most supportive and loving partner.

Listen, in a world where there are a thousand or more different races, anthropomorphic beings, monsters, magic, cults and guilds- being trans really isn’t that big of a deal or even something to blink twice at.

That doesn’t make it any easier though, coming out, even with all the “diversity” an ever present looming prejudice and bigotry was held among the heads of said margins- the ones who have managed to fall through the cracks of what had been somehow deemed ‘normal’ in this world..

It’s scary.

Especially when it comes to your relationship with Laios.

No, you doubt he’d hold any form of hatred or even really.. care about someone coming out to him. But that was just the problem, it almost felt like an unpredictability in his ways of emoting or showing how he reacts.

What if he didn’t accept it? What if he really did care about you not having “the right parts”…

You weren’t sure, really.

And that’s why you’d put it off for so long.

You’d been with Laios for some time now, but most of it was spent in dungeon and when you’d resurface neither of you had any of the energy to actually get physical aside from hugs and brief cuddling before he overheated and moved away in his sleep.

He hadn’t felt the layers you wore to conceal what you deemed a “secret”, neither him or the party ever seeing you without a shirt or even naked despite all the shared baths and such. Never once had they’d managed to catch you in a “slip up” of revealing yourself.

Also, why the hell would you drop such a comment and come out in the middle of the dungeon?! Who does that? Definitely not you, if it were to go sideways who’s to say they wouldn’t tie you up in vines and leave you to the giant frogs to eat?

None of them would be that cruel, you knew that. It was still hard, though.

Everyone knew you as a guy, you are a guy, your secondary characteristics prominent from the lapsed time on testosterone. It was easy to “pass” and you were worried.. really. It ate at you, even if in reality you didn’t exactly owe non-intimate partners your bodies explanation, Laios was the outlier.

An intimate partner, a boyfriend.. you’d wanted more and you knew he did too.

It felt all too difficult to do, dozens upon dozens of scenarios playing out in your hypothetical coming out but you wouldn’t know the true outcome until you actually.. told him.

—

Picking at the hem of your shirt, Laios came into your bedroom changed into his freshly washed sleep wear. His eyes scanned you, a soft smile on his lips as he slid into the bed- laying himself beside you.

You knew his next move was to wrap his arms around your waist but you needed some space to tell him. It hurt your heart a fair bit when Laios looked up at you like a whining puppy when you moved away from him..

“Are you okay?”

He asked, eyebrows crossed in concern.

“Yeah.. I just.. there’s something I need to tell you.”

The blonde sat up, crossing his legs and leaning forward towards you intently.

God, he didn’t make this any easier. His dumb almost dog like demeanour with bright golden eyes boring into you.. it sent a jolt up your spine.

“What is it?”

After all this time, rehearsing it over and over again, memorizing how your body would move and react to emote yourself to him and when he’s sitting here waiting patiently for you to tell him-

The words failed to find themselves on your tongue. Instead your throat felt tight, almost hard to swallow the word vomit that itched instead.

Your fingers continued to play with your shirt hem, trying to distract from the obvious tension.. sighing, your body decided on its own and through an incredibly impulsive action

You now sat on the bed without a shirt, binder on display.

You’d shocked yourself with the move, face burning and tears pricking at the corner of your eyes and catching on your eyelashes. Only flinching when Laios thrummed his finger on the clothing.

“You got hurt? When? Are you alright?”

He got closer, trying to inspect further but eased up at your clear discomfort.

“No. I’m not hurt!”

Unable to control your tone or volume, Laios flinched himself and moved back just a bit.

���Oh. Then what is this?”

Biting your lip, you could’ve guessed Laios wouldn’t have been familiar with these types of undergarments. With a deep, heavy sigh, your hands pushed themselves pressed into your cheeks and your neck dragged your head down to stare straight at the bed.

“I’m trans. That’s it. It’s a binder.”

It was quiet, just barely audible to him. The churning in your stomach twisted and ached, feeling like it was taking him a hundred years to respond..

Having enough with the silence, your head slowly tore itself away from your hands- Laios was still staring at you with the same care and concern he held before you came out with it.

“So? What.. what do you think?”

He blinked, tilting his head quizzically

“That was it? I thought it was something.. more? Not to uh, be mean or dismissive but-“

An amused laugh left your lips, startling your more conscious side of mind- what did he mean expected more? You didn’t want to guess, but the look of relief that washed over him told you all you needed to know.

“Are you okay with it? Okay with.. me?”

His bright eyes widened, realizing what you had actually wanted as a response

“Yeah! Of course, I love you.”

He loved you? You covered your blushing face with your hands, Laios was far too nonchalant with his words but they were sincere.

You hadn’t known why, well you did, but you had for some reason expected an explosive or more emotional response? But again.. it’s Laios. He’s not that kind of person.

“Is that why you never let me hug you for more than a few seconds?”

Pulling away from your hands, Laios sat there pouting. It was a fair question and he was right..

“I thought you didn’t like my hugs..”

The poor man seemed so upset! Sighing out a laugh, your body moved to hug his large frame.

“I love your hugs, it’s just scary.. I wasn’t sure what you’d think.”

His large arms wrapped around your body tightly, a satisfied hum escaping his chest. All this worrying, all this pent up stress.. all for nothing basically. Still, this was a big moment.. Laios knew what he would see when the time came.

You felt fingers inspect your binder, one slipping under and pulling it back- losing grip on it and accidentally letting it snap back onto your skin.

“Hey! That hurt!”

Shoving him away, you rubbed the spot where it snapped back.

“Wow, it’s really tight..”

“That’s the whole point Laios.”

He pursed his lips, hand scratching his chin as he thought for a moment. Eyes glowing at whatever epiphany he had

“Why don’t you take it off? I read somewhere you shouldn’t wear it for too long and I’ve been here all day! Take it off!”

Panicked, he moved and grabbed one of his shirts from your drawer and tossed it to you.

“Someone also said you could asphyxiate yourself! Were you wearing that the whole time in the dungeon?!”

Genuine concern oozed from him, stress in his knitted brows. You motioned for him to calm down, reassuring him you were fine and that you would not get asphyxiated from wearing it- giving him a brief lesson on binders and that you made sure you were absolutely safe the whole time.

It did calm him down, but he still told you to take it off. You agreed, the tightness a tad more noticeable since Laios so rudely pulled it back..

He offered to turn around or leave, but you let him watch. Even if he was turning red the whole time, shifting awkwardly while you changed.. he’d never seen your bare skin before now and it had him feeling hot and bothered.. your skin was smooth, aside from the faint pink outlines of where the seams laid on your skin.

Smiling up at him, you changed into his oversized sleep shirt and took a deep breathe of relief.

Laying back down on the bed, arms stretched out to let the large man cuddle into you. You could feel his attentive gaze on you, and you knew that meant he had a couple questioned festering in that ever-learning mind of his.

“What’s on your mind?”

He flushed, shoving himself further into you before he brought up his courage.

“Can.. can I see? I know you get facial hair and I am curious to see how it effects the rest of your body..”

Ah. Of course. Whispering a small sound of approval, you let him lift the shirt.. feeling yourself heat up again when he started fondling your chest.

“They’re not big, I think you can do without your binder in colder months.”

“Uh.. yeah. Thanks?”

He hummed, large hands exploring your torso and tickling along your skin. The motions he made, how his hands managed to squeeze just right in the more sensitive places had the space between your legs warming up and getting wetter by the second..

Laios was getting excited too, with the way he was cuddled up his hard on brushed against your leg. He shifted upwards, kissing your cheek and then the corner of your mouth. You were quick to grab his face and kiss him fully, slipping your tongue into his mouth- his hands now tightly holding onto the plush flesh of your chest.

Moaning out, you pulled away breathlessly. Laios’ eyes already hazed over, a hungry look you’d only ever seen in dungeon trickled over his features. He moved to cage you between his arms, hovering over you as he caught your lips with his again before leaving wet kisses along the side of your neck.

“Can I go further?”

His words laced with lust reached themselves between your legs, for sure leaving a wet spot in your underwear. An excited arousal festered in your abdomen, nodding at his question of consent.

With a smile, he pecked your lips before throwing off his own shirt and shimmying down to where your boxers peaked out from your pyjama bottoms. Golden eyes looked up to your own, checking to see if you were still okay with what he wanted to do.

You wanted it bad, he knew that. He felt it. Pulling down your bottoms, his eyes widened in delight. Admittedly you felt shy and kind of insecure, never being this exposed to him before but before any of your worries could settle into the pool of your arousal-

He took a long, striped lick between your folds, flicking his tongue when it met your clitoris.

Shuddering at the sensation, your legs instinctively tried to close but he remained steadfast inbetween your legs. Taking experimental licks around your folds, suckling on your tiny dick. It sent electric shocks of pleasure up your body, making the heat in your abdomen burn even more.

The man smiled at the reactions, licking and kissing your inner thighs, up your stomach, lips tracing their own path on your happy trail. He pushed your thighs back, exposing more of you and really dove in.

It was wet, the sound of slick between each lap and suckle from his mouth made blood pool in your cheeks. He had you gasping, stomach rising and falling with each groan and grunt from you.

When he pulled away, a faint sheen on his lips and chin remained. He was happy, satisfied with his warm up on you.

“Can I-“

“Yes. Please.”

You needed him, it was your first time with him and you wanted it all. He could play with you all he wanted after but for now the two of you ached and craved to feel each other whole.

While he slipped off his bottoms, you caught your breathe and ran your fingers through your hair to ease yourself into it.

You knew he was big, above average, and even with how wet you were it was going to be a stretch.

Sighing in content, you hadn’t realized he already had a condom on and was aligned with your heat until it poked just at the entrance.

Startled, you looked down between where your pelvises met.. he looked up at you with a soft smile. With a hitched breathe, he positioned the head of his dick to lay just inside the entrance. His eyes focused on yours, leaning down to kiss you.

Slowly, as he deepened the kiss he slid in. The stretch was tight, making your nose scrunch with the building pressure.

Until you felt yourself finally accommodate for his size, a wave of pleasured relief heating your whole body.

“Fuck..”

Groaning into the kiss, he rocked his hips slowly. You could feel his own muscles tense under your grip and he shared his own grunts of pleasure, letting them pool into your mouth.

The two of you weren’t going to last long, no matter how much control and how slow the pace was.

It was all overwhelming, emotions at a peaked high from what happened before and it being the first shared time.

The coil that sweltered in your pelvis was quickly coming to its end, feeling yourself clench around him and making more slick sounds with every thrust he made.

“Laios, I’m close.”

“Me too..”

It was almost a whimper, his mouth near your ear as he shyly buried his face into your neck, pleading with himself with every rut he made inside.

Your orgasm washed over you without warning, moaning out and gripping the blondes shoulders tightly- with your high almost ending, he came quickly after from every tight pulse you made on him.

Laying there breathlessly, he slumped onto your body. The two of you both smiling like idiots.

“You’re.. so.. handsome..”

His soft dick now pulled out, he caressed your ribs and kissed your cheek.

“I love you no matter what.. thank you.. for telling me..”

His post orgasm clarity made him say what he hesitated or couldn’t find the words for earlier, though it was through soft yawns and slurred sleepy words- it was what you needed to hear.

All your hypotheticals and nightmares fluttered from your mind, you almost had to pinch yourself for ever thinking the man would be anything but loving and accepting. He loved you for you, and you loved him for him. Quirks and all.

[maxybabyy]

part four to my max run club verse (slightly au of the orignal plot)

Daniel is three drinks deep and spilling his fourth when he sees him.

He’s taller than Daniel thought he would be, probably has an inch or two on Daniel, long limbs stretched out where he leans against the bar. There’s a smile on his face, and Daniel catches himself leaning in, squinting to find the tiny dot just above his lip.

The mole is there. It hasn’t somehow disappeared between now and the video he had watched before bed, Scotty asleep next to him.

That isn’t always the case, he knows. Sometimes they remove it. But it makes the fans freak out so someone must have told them to leave it. Daniel probably wouldn’t do it now, but he had done it like maybe once. Drunk off his ass asking Red Bull Running what the fuck they thought they were doing, editing people’s faces like that.

Blake had made him delete it, but his point still stood.

Daniel watches Max laugh with his entire body, one arm thrown around his waist as the other grips the bar. He throws back his head as his shoulders shake, and Daniel cannot look away, perversely obsessed with this new side of Max that he hasn’t seen before.

His chest burns with heat, with the thought that maybe he’s the only one to see Max like this. Other than like, Max’s friends and family. But of his fans, Daniel could be alone in this.

He hadn’t given it much thought when Scotty had asked him to come, “There’s like this Red Bull thing that I have to go to. It’s in Austria, but it could be fun. Do you wanna come with?”

He thought maybe Scotty would make them go skiing, and Daniel would do a slope or two before going to work on his tan. At night they would fuck in the hot tub, laugh about the mess, and then do it again the next night. A chance to reconnect, Daniel had thought, and wouldn’t that have been nice?  

Now someone brushes against him, and it makes Daniel jump.

His drink is empty, but it wobbles in his hand, threatening to spill when someone wraps their fingers around his. Long elegant fingers stretched around him and the glass. Trim nails prick his skin, and a shiver runs down his spine.

“Nice catch, mate,” Daniel says and flexes his hand, testing a grip that doesn’t relent.

“Hello,” someone says, and the voice is so fucking familiar that it makes Daniel’s head whip up to look at the man in front of him, at Max. “I brought you a drink.”

There’s an open bar, still Daniel takes the drink without complaint. Max doesn’t let go of him, and Daniel doesn’t move, their hands cradled awkwardly between them until his fingers start to twitch. Even then, Max is slow to step back, hands shoved loosely into the pockets of his jeans.

“Thank you,” Daniel says and takes a sip. It’s a gin and tonic, light on the tonic. Max had smelt of it too, the pine sticky on his lips. Daniel licks them again, tries not to imagine if Max would taste like it too.

“You were staring,” Max says tells him.

“Yeah, I was, kinda,” Daniel says with a laugh. Now when he looks at him, Max is watching him back. That’s another thing the videos hadn’t prepared him for, the unrelenting eye contact. For once, he doesn’t squirm under the weight of his stare. Instead, the feeling in his chest grows, preens at the attention. “Bit of a fan, actually.”

Max’s eyes crinkle at that, and Daniel’s breath catches in his throat.

“No, I’m serious,” Daniel insists. For months, he had been saving videos of Max on a playlist to watch later –  most of them of him running, but some of them not – only to find that other people were saving the list. Now, ‘mv jom’ has been privated but it still lives at the top of his page. “I’m like, a big fan of your moaning.”

Max’s laughter is loud enough that the people around them turn around to watch. GP, who must have travelled with Max, stares at them from across the room, and Daniel wants to die.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry. Your running, that’s what I’m a fan of,” Daniel says while he waits for the ground to swallow him. “Helped me out big time while I was rehabbing.”

“Your knee, no?” Max asks. “From the accident?”

Blood rushes in his ears, and Daniel swallows what’s left of his drink. He has to focus to ease the frown from his face, but confusion still pricks his skin, and even the softened look on Max’s face doesn’t soothe him. “Yeah, how did you know?”

Max’s tongue traces the corner of his mouth, and when Daniel mirrors him, his tongue comes away wet, “Maybe I am a big fan also.”

Daniel tries to laugh, but his mouth feels too dry.

Max steps closer, the tips of his shoes touching the insides of Daniel’s, and offers him the rest of his drink. Daniel takes it, hand shaking as he replaces Max’s mouth with his own.

“Actually, I thought you were of course staring because you wanted to fuck me,” Max tells him then.

“What?”

But Max isn’t done. He takes another step, and their knees bump against each other. Daniel feels Max’s breath on his skin, and the mole he had squinted at before is now close enough to touch. “It is of course better like this, already you know that I am very flexible,” he adds. Casual, like that isn’t the exact thought Daniel’s been trying to squash since he first saw him.

Because Daniel does already know how Max looks on his knees. Bent over so deeply that his chest had pressed against the floor, thighs spread obscenely wide – “Big breath here, just a little deeper. For me, please? You can do it.” – to get the right stretch.

It wouldn’t be hard to fuck him like that, he reckons, Max’s body loose and malleable underneath his hands. Not like how Daniel’s knee still aches when Scotty tries to fuck him from behind.

“I mostly just listen to the audio guides,” Daniel lies, voice faint.

“Always I can just show you instead,” Max offers. His thigh presses in between Daniel’s, and his jeans feel rough against Daniel’s dick. “Like this, it will be so lovely also.”

Daniel chokes on his spit, and Max must be close enough to hear the awkward clench of his throat. But maybe he doesn’t notice, too busy touching the shiny lapels of Daniel’s suit jacket. He doesn’t quite tug at the fabric, but Daniel leans in anyway.

“I did not know that you were sponsored by Red Bull,” Max says. The intensity of the eye contact doesn’t ease up close, and Daniel’s chest feels dangerously tight. “I have not seen you here before.”

Daniel licks his lips, “I’m not.”

“Are you here with someone?” Max asks.

He thinks of Scotty watching them from across the room, of all the shit he had talked about Max after finding the videos. He thinks of how Scotty had fucked him then, hard and fast, biting marks into his neck like they were nineteen and sleeping with other people. He thinks of Scotty behind him, arm around his waist as he watched Max with dark eyes, “Who’s your friend, DR?” He would ask like he didn’t already know.

But most of all, he thinks of Scotty fucking Chloe Stroll in their LA home. Of finding out via texts Scotty had been dumb enough to keep.

Everything gets a little easier after that.

[loverslantern]

The Hunter and the Witch~ Dean Winchester x f! reader

Description: While looking into a mysterious murder in Illinois, Sam, Dean, and Y/N come across Meg, an old 'friend' of Sam's, who may be far worse than they ever thought possible

Warnings: Cannon violence, the forensic details talked about—the blood splatter—should be some part accurate but i’m also not an expert so don’t take my word like it is—i’m just a nerd. Also!! no outfit for this one since there’s really none described and not one i’m really particularly picturing since this episode is very plot driven??

Tag list: @jesllianaquilesrolonsworld @okayiamkassandra @fablesrose @ada--44 @bonkydarnes @star-yawnznn @crazyunsexycool @onlyangel-444 , @seninjakitey @mystic-mara @mxltifxndom @stilesxreid @chaotic-luvrs @tiggytaylor @deanwasscaredbyacat

Word Count: 9,655

Shadow

(Master list, Prev Chapter, Next Chapter)

I pin my hair back as the Impala stops, claw clip holding back layers of hair in a half-up-half-down look. It was a last-ditch effort to make a dark blue jumpsuit look good, especially when it was a uniform jumpsuit.

I leave the car, closing the door behind me as Dean opens the trunk, pulling out a metal toolbox. It really completes the look. He closes the trunk and we move away from the car, crossing the street towards the victim's apartment. The three of us are matching in our getups, which lessens the embarrassment or awkwardness but doesn’t take away from the outfits themselves. “All right, this is the place,” Sam announces, stopping in front of the apartment building. “You know, I’ve gotta say Dad and I did just fine without these stupid costumes. I feel like a high school drama dork,” Dean comments and I’m glad at least someone agrees this costume sucks. He smiles, continuing, “What was that play that you did?” he asks Sam, “What was it…Our Town. Yeah, you were good, it was cute.” I look between the boys, smiling as I hit Sam’s shoulder, “Shut up! You were in a play?!” He scuffs and rolls his eyes. Dean laughs as he answers for his brother, “Yeah he was.”

“How come no one told me?” I ask, I mean seriously this feels like something Dean would’ve spilled to me. Dean’s eyebrows furrow, “I didn’t tell you?”

“No!” I exclaim, “Do you have pictures?” His smile brightens, a mischievous glint in his green eyes, “‘Course I do.”

“Okay, well now you’re obligated to show me,” I point out, excited to see the no-doubt adorable photos. “Are you guys done or what?” Sam asks, arms crossed against his chest. I nod with a tight-lipped smile. “And if you wanna pull this off then we need the costumes,” he adds, logically.

“And while that is a great point, I have to agree with Dean on this one. These outfits are ugly,” I complain.

“That wasn’t really my point,” Dean interjects. I purse my lips, “Shh, it was close enough. And you can’t say this isn't a borderline janitor or plumber,” I motion my hand up and down at the jumpsuit for emphasis. The only difference was the brown leather belt at the waist, which really added nothing to the look—it barely even accentuated the waistline. “I’m just sayin’, these outfits cost hard-earned money, okay?” Dean argues, getting back to his point.

“Whose?” Sam counters. Dean looks at him like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “Ours. ‘You think credit card fraud is easy?”

“Thanks for lettin’ us look around,” Sam starts, letting the landlady lead us into the apartment. A weird feeling crawls down my spine, something heavy and undoubtedly coming from the apartment. “Well, the police said they were done with the place, so…..” she led us further into the living room. The white carpet is adorned with blood drops, some spots darker than others. “You guys said you were with the alarm company?” she asks.

“That’s right,” Dean clarifies.

“Well, no offense, but your alarm’s about as useful as boobs on a man,” she quipped, and I have to bite my bottom lip hard not to burst out in unprofessional laughter. “Well, that’s why we’re here. To see what went wrong and stop it from happening again,” Dean responds, somehow keeping it together.

“Now, ma’am, you found the body,” Sam asks, jumping right into it. “Yeah,” the lady responds, nodding. “Right after it happened?” he follows up.

“No. Few days later. Meredith’s work called—she hadn’t shown up. I knocked on the door. That’s when I noticed the smell.”

“Was there any sign of a break-in or forced entry?” I ask.

“No, windows were locked, front door was bolted. Chain was on the door, we had to cut it just to get in,” she answers.

“And the alarm was still on?” Dean asked, the scene coming together.

“Like I said, bang-up job your company’s doin’,” she remarks. It was no wonder the cops were stumped, those details practically suggest the killer walked through the walls. There was no other way to enter and leave without going through the front door or the untouched windows. “Mmhmm,” Dean hums, “You see any overturned furniture, broken glass, signs of struggle?”

She shakes her head, “Everything was in perfect condition….except Meredith.”

“And what condition was Meredith in?” Sam asks carefully, moving away from the window he was standing in front of.

“Meredith was all over. In pieces. The guy who killed her must have been some kind of a whack job. But I tell you, if I didn't know any better I’d have said a wild animal did it.”

“Ma’am, do you mind if we take some time? Give this place a once-over?” Sam asks, sharing a look with his brother.

“Oh, well, go right ahead. Knock yourself out.”

****

“So, a killer walks in and out of the apartment—no weapons, no prints, nothin’,” Dean acknowledges, opening his toolbox and pulling out his DIY EMF reader. “I’m tellin’ ya, the minute I found that article, I knew this was our kind of gig,” Sam explains just as the EMF reader beeps frantically. A clear sign.

“I think I agree with you,” Dean mumbles.

I walk around the room studying the blood splatter on the wall. Whatever was here was certainly powerful, a strange feeling creeping over my shoulder. “So, you talked to the cops?” Sam asked from the other side of the room. “Uh, yeah,” Dean smirks, “I spoke to Amy, a, uh, charming, perky, officer of the law.”

I scuff, not surprised, “Yeah? Did you find anything useful out or just what she looked like naked?”

“Well, she’s a Sagittarius,” he starts, his voice dreamy like he was reliving it, “She loves tequila, I mean—wow. Oh, and she’s got this little tattoo—“

“Dean!” Sam and I yell at the same time. God, he was ridiculous. “What?” he responds as if he did nothing wrong, “Yeah. Uh, nothin’ we don’t already know. Except for one thing they’re keepin’ out of the papers.”

“Hm?” Sam questions.

“Meredith’s heart was missing.”

Sam chokes on his breath, “Her heart?”

“You know that makes sense,” I start, “With the blood splatter that is.”

“What do you mean?” Sam asks. I walked over to the side table, a phone on it, “Well she was standing here, maybe listening to voicemails since no one has come forward to say they were on call with her when it happened, you would imagine they would hear a disturbance. Then the thing must have come from behind considering the slightly darker spray of blood there,” I point to the wall in front of me and what landed on the phone. “See it’s a projectile splatter —like a mist, somewhere between medium and high velocity. But there are no arterial spurts which would suggest it being quick and skilled, seemingly grabbing the right thing without hitting an artery.” I halt my explanation, “Are you guys following?”

“Yeah, we’re following, sweetheart,” Dean responds.

“Okay, good. So, came from behind, and was able to literally just bam, grabbing the heart and then pulling back out the same way. Which is the minimal blood behind her other than the pooling of blood when she went down. There’s hardly a blood trail or drops, nothing to suggest moving to other sides of the room after the kill. Well, except that…” I point to a blood pattern on the smooth white carpet nearby, “That’s not any blood splatter pattern, at least not a naturally occurring one. Those are methodical, otherwise it doesn’t make sense.”

The drops were in a weird shape or form, it would be hard to explain to anyone who wasn’t there.

Dean makes his way over, crouching before it. He studies it for a beat before saying, “See if you can find any masking tape around.” Sam immediately gets to it, checking the cabinets in the kitchen first. “So, what do you think did it to her?” Sam asks from the other room.

“I don’t know about this,” he gestures to the blood in front of him, “But, the landlady said it looked like an animal attack, maybe it was—werewolf?”

“Can’t be a werewolf, the lunar cycle doesn’t match up,” I respond. “Plus, if it was a creature, it would’ve left some kind of trace. It’s probably a spirit,” Sam adds, coming back into the room with a roll of black tape.

We stand aside as Dean connects the small pools of blood, a pattern evident to him. When he finishes and steps aside the tape reveals an almost ‘Z’ like shape with a horizontal oval in the center, cutting the letter off before it continues again. “Ever see that symbol before?” Sam asks. The symbol wasn’t exactly familiar in itself but close enough to another thing to make a small connection. “Never,” Dean answers.

“Me neither,” Sam agreed.

I rub my eyes, exhausted from summoning books all night. I know the symbol has something to do with summoning a specific being, whatever that being is I don’t know.

I sit across Sam in the noisy bar we just walked into, his Dad's journal in his hands. Dean said he was here somewhere. I move to rubbing my temples, a headache engraving itself. While teleporting objects is far easier than a person I was also getting my books from home—aka around 1,120 miles away. Maine to Chicago, trying to go through my family's old journals and spell books in the hope it had the symbol and an explanation somewhere. So far there was nothing.

The chair next to me scraps back, and someone takes a seat. I don’t have to lift my head from my hands to know who it is, the presence too familiar not to recognize. “I talked to the bartender,” Dean says.

“Did you get anything?” Sam asks, looking up from newspaper clippings he must have pulled out at some point, “Besides her number?”

“Dude. I’m professional. I’m offended that you would think that,” Dean defends with the utmost serious face. Sam and I both give him a knowing look, he would never pass up an opportunity like that. He breaks, a goofy smile on his lips as he pulls out a napkin from the inside of his jacket, holding it up, pen-marked digits written on it, “Alright, yeah,” he chuckles, looking at the napkin proudly. I roll my eyes, he really is ridiculous. And of course, I just had to be madly in love with a guy who’s interested in every other girl.

“You mind doin’ a little bit of thinking with your upstairs brain, Dean?” Sam lectures and it’s my turn to laugh. I hit his arm, “Oh man, he got you bad.”

Dean scuffs, “Look, there’s nothing to find out. I mean, Meredith worked here, she waited tables, everyone here was her friend. Everyone said she was normal. She didn’t do or say anything weird before she died, so…what about that symbol, you find anything?”

“Nope, nothing. It wasn’t in Dad’s journal or any of the usual books,” Sam answers, putting down the newspaper clippings he’d been holding. “And there’s nothing, so far, in any spell books or journals,” I add as I pull out a brown strapped book from my bag, “If I have to read another book entirely in Latin I will commit violent atrocities.” I’d read at least ten journals in Latin back to back, it was rather nice to see the things my ancestors got into but after a while, it was very tiring.

“We just have to dig a little deeper, I guess,” Sam replied thoughtfully.

“Well, there was a first victim, right? Before Meredith?” Dean asks. His brother nods, “Right. Yeah,” he moves the newspaper clippings around until he finds the right one, “His name was, uh…his name was Ben Swardstrom.” He hands the clipping to Dean as he continues, “Last month he was found mutilated in his townhouse. Same deal, the door was locked, the alarm was on.”

“Is there any connection between the two of them?” Dean pushes, grazing over the newspaper. “Not that I can tell—I mean, not yet, at least. Ben was a banker, and Meredith was a waitress. They never met, never knew anyone in common—they were practically from different worlds.”

“So, to recap, the only successful intel we’ve scored so far is the bartender's phone number,” Dean smirks. I sigh, it sounds more disappointed and tired than anything, “Dude, really?”

“Oh, come on, it’s true,” he defends with a smirk. I scuff, a retort dying on my tongue as Sam stands suddenly, his eyes locked somewhere behind his brother. “Sam?” his brother asks as he begins to walk away. Like nosy teenagers, Dean and I turn in our seats.

Sam stops at a table, his back to us and blocking whomever he’s trying to talk to. He puts his hand on their shoulder. It’s apparent the two know each other, especially when their arms are wrapped around him in a hug. Bare arms wrap around him, hands too feminine to not belong to a woman. I throw Dean a questioning look, maybe it was a family friend? But he looks confused and even skeptical as he stands and walks over. I quickly gather my book, their Dad’s journal, and any of the other papers lying around and shove them in my bag before following after the older Winchester.

The girl was quite attractive, with short blonde hair and dark eyes. A pretty smile plastered on her face and a cute frilly lilac shirt. “Oh, I did. I came, I saw, I conquered. Oh, and I met what’s-his-name, something Michael Murray at a bar,” she answers whatever question Sam had asked. “Who?” Sam asks, an equally big smile on his face. The girl brushes it off, “Oh, it doesn’t matter. Anyway, the whole scene got old, so I’m living here for a while.”

Suddenly, Dean clears his throat loudly, practically begging to be introduced into the conversation. I elbow him and ignore the look he gives me as I mouth ‘Let them speak.’ It was awkward enough just standing near them, off to the side as they caught up, and his attention-grabbing scheme wasn’t helping. He shakes his head at me, eyes wide and hands raised like he’s asking me why. I give him a pointed look, the reasoning should be obvious. “You’re from Chicago?” Sam asks.

“No, Massachusetts—Andover,” she clarifies. Her smile widens, “Gosh, Sam, what are the odds we’d run into each other?”

“Yeah, I know, I thought I’d never see you again,” Sam responded. “Well, I’m glad you were wrong,” she smiles. Dean clears his throat again, somehow louder, I shake my head with a sigh, he was not gonna give up. “Dude, cover your mouth,” the girl snaps and I have to stop my lips from curling into a smile. “Yeah, um, I’m sorry, Meg,” Sam starts, seemingly remembering to introduce the two creeps listening in on a conversation they should be allowed to be private, “This is my friend Y/N.”

I smile, extending a hand out of courtesy, “It’s nice to meet you, Meg.” Her hands are cold against mine, something like recognition passes in her eyes as she responds with the usual saying. Something deep inside my gut curls as I take her in, but I ignore it for now as we break from the shake. “And this is, uh…this is my brother, Dean.” This time her face lights up in surprise, eyes widening and brows shooting up, “This is Dean?” she asks. The man in question smiles with his usual charm. “Yeah,” Sam confirms.

“So, you’ve heard of me?” Dean asks, just a hint of pride on his tongue. Meg looks him up and down in one quick motion, her lips curling in disdain, “Oh, yeah. I’ve heard of you. Nice, the way you treat your brother like luggage.”

My lips part in shock, taken aback, I immediately look between both boys for their reaction. Sam’s eyes are wide, lips parted like she wasn’t supposed to say that, and Dean looks confused, eyebrows furrowed, “Sorry?” he asks.

“Why don’t you let him do what he wants to do?” she continues rapidly, “Stop dragging him over God’s green earth.”

“Meg, it’s all right,” Sam cuts in before more damage can be done. But the damage has already been done. Dean whistles lowly, “Okay, awkward. I’m gonna get a drink now,” he throws Sam a puzzled look before walking away. My eyes follow after him, the last minute felt like a whirlwind, before landing back on the couple in front of me. I eye Meg, what she did was so not cool on so many levels. “I…um,” I point towards the bar, after Dean, with a tightlipped smile, “I’m gonna…” I spin halfway on my heels, walking to the bar.

I take a seat next to Dean on one of the bar stools, a beer already clenched in his hand. The condensation drips down the brown bottle, dripping on the counter as he lifts the rim to his lips and takes a hefty sip. I want to say something–something comforting and helpful, but I know he won’t want to hear it. I could feel the frustration roll off of him in waves, but most importantly that hurt look in his green eyes. I lean into him until our upper arms touch for a moment before pulling away, a silent way of saying I was here with him if he wanted to talk about it or not. Either way, he isn't alone.

****

I push through the bar door before it can slam on me. Dean was walking quickly after his brother, his arm thrown out back at the building, “Who the hell was she?”

“I don’t really know,” Sam responds honestly, “I only met her once. Meeting up with her again? I don’t know, man, it’s weird.”

“And what was she saying? I treat you like luggage? What, were you bitchin’ about me to some chick?” Dean argues.

“Look, I’m sorry, Dean. It was when we had that huge fight when I was in that bus stop in Indiana. But that’s not important, just listen—” Sam explains, his voice calm and steady, before getting cut off by his brother, “Well, is there any truth to what she’s saying? I mean, am I keeping you against your will, Sam?”

He stops his brother, “No, of course not. Now, would you listen?”

“What?” Dean gives in, the word harsh as it passes his lips. “I think there’s somethin’ strange going on here,” Sam explains as we stop in front of the Impala.

“Yeah, tell me about it. She wasn’t even that into me,” Dean scuffs. I sigh for the umpteenth time today, “Seriously? Dean? That’s what you got out of that whole interaction?”

“I mean like our kind of strange. Like, maybe even a lead,” Sam clarifies before his brother can respond with some other stupid comment. “Why do you say that?” Dean questions.

“I met Meg weeks ago, literally on the side of the road. And now, I run into her in some random Chicago bar? I mean, the same bar where a waitress was slaughtered by something supernatural? You don’t think that’s a little weird?” Sam points out. I nod, “No, yeah, that’s weird. I can't even imagine what the statistical percentage would be, 'cause that’s, like, really specific.”

“I don’t know, random coincidence. It happens,” Dean answers, shrugging. “That is some coincidence then,” I respond, not understanding how he couldn’t see or feel how weird it all is. “Sure, it happens, but not to us. Look,” Sam breathes, “I could be wrong, I’m just sayin’ that there’s something about this girl that I can’t quite put my finger on.”

Dean smirks, “Well, I bet you’d like to. I mean, maybe she’s not a suspect, maybe you’ve got a thing for her, huh?” Sam rolls his eyes and laughs, not exactly the most convincing response. “Maybe you’re thinkin’ a little too much with your upstairs brain, huh?” Dean continued, pointing to his head with a grin.

“Ew, why’d you have to say it like that,” I complain. He opens his mouth to respond with something when Sam cuts in, “Both of you do me a favor. Check and see if there’s really a Meg Masters from Andover, Massachusetts, see if you can dig anything up on that symbol on Meredith’s floor,” Sam orders, his expression going back to being serious. “What are you gonna do?” Dean asks

“I’m gonna watch Meg,” he responds. Dean laughs, “Yeah, you are.”

“That was a really weird way to put it,” I add. He sighs, annoyed, “You know what I meant, I just wanna see what’s what. Better safe than sorry.”

“All right, you little pervert,” Dean comments, and Sam looks to me for help. I shake my head, “That wasn’t any better.”

His shoulders drop, “Dude.”

Dean laughs, throwing an arm around my shoulder, “We’re goin’, we’re goin.’”

I sit across from Dean at the given table of their motel room, a leg beneath me. Sam’s laptop is opened up in front of him and I have a creepy old book. The pages are crisp and browned, the cover a deep red with animal skulls and sigils engraved into it. It’s not the first creepy old book I happen to own from being in the family and it certainly won’t be the last. Luckily, it was mostly for show, the symbols there to keep out those who aren’t blood related—-my extended family really knew how to be private. Yet, this book held the answers.

Dean’s phone rings, breaking the comfortable silence we had been sitting in for the last thirty or so minutes, maybe more. He flicks his phone open, pressing a few buttons before placing it in between us. “Let me guess. You’re lurkin’ outside that poor girl’s apartment, aren’t you?” Dean greets.

“No,” Sam responds. Dean and I share a pointed look, it wasn’t like that was exactly what he told us he was going to do. “Yes,” he clarifies. “You’ve got a funny way of showin’ your affection,” Dean jokes.

“Did you find anything on her or what?” Sam asks, going straight to business mode.

“Sorry, man, she checks out. There is a Meg Masters in the Andover phonebook. I even pulled up her high school photo,” Dean informs, the confirmation hanging in the air for a moment before he continues, “Now, look, why don’t you go knock on her door, and, uh, invite her to a poetry reading, or whatever it is you do, huh?”

“Maybe don’t knock on her door though ‘cause then she’s gonna ask how you knew she lived there,” I correct, “But you can text or call and ask!”

“That’s a good point, do that instead,” Dean adds.

“What about the symbol? Any luck?” Sam asks, ignoring our suggestions.

“Yeah, Y/N had luck with that one,” Dean starts, looking at me to continue. “Right, yes. Okay, so, it’s Zoroastrian, believed to be dated about two thousand years before Christ. The symbol we saw is a sigil for a Daeva,” I inform.

“What’s a Daeva?” Sam asks.

“They’re Zoroastrian demons, really mean, aggressive things. And if that’s not enough, Daeva translates to ‘demon of darkness,’” I explain.

“Kind of like, uh, demonic pit bulls,” Dean adds.

“Eh,” I shake my head, “pit bulls are cute and really aren’t mean.”

“You think everything’s cute, and demonic pit bulls would be aggressive,” Dean counters with a pointed look. “Alright, fine that’s true, I guess they would be,” I give in, ignoring the first part of his comment. “Anyways,” Sam cuts in, “How’d you figure that out?”

“I went through more books,” I shrug, “And don’t worry I will not be committing violent atrocities because I have tea!” I hold up the to-go cup with a smile even though Sam can’t see. “Oh! wait, speaking of Latin,” I start, putting the cup down and going back to being serious, “Daevas have to be summoned, conjured. Someone’s controlling it and it isn’t an easy thing to do, you don’t exactly tame them. It’s more like temporarily guiding their wrath, the second you slip up or whatever they’ll kill you with no hesitation.”

“These suckers tend to bite the hand that feeds them,” Dean clarifies, “And, uh, the arms, and torsos.”

“So, what do they look like?” Sam asks.

“Um, according to my great, great, great, great I don’t know how many greats Aunt you can’t actually see them, only their shadow,” I inform, moving my leg from beneath me to sit properly. “Good for lurking, not so great for us,” I add.

“That’s great,” Sam sighs.

“We can figure it out here. Now, why don’t you go give that girl a private strip-o-gram?” Dean responds, giving his brother an easy way out to have…fun.

“Bite me,” Sam retorts, and I can almost hear his bitchface.

“No, bite her. Don’t leave teeth marks, though—Sam? Are you—?” he picks up his phone, confused, before hanging up himself. I give him a look, “Dude.”

“What?”

“So, hot little Meg is summoning the Daeva?” Dean responds after Sam spent a hot minute reviewing everything he witnessed. I take in the information, there was a lot of it. “Looks like she was using that black altar to control the thing,” Sam adds, still standing like he has too much energy to do anything else.

“So, Sammy’s got a thing for the bad girl,” Dean laughs, taking the time to point that out rather than the problem at hand. Sam rolls his eyes, irritation written all over his face. “And what’s the deal with that bowl again?” Dean asks.

“He said she was using it to scry. Now anyone can learn to scry you don’t have to be a witch even if that's what it’s commonly associated with. And you can use just about anything, usually mirrors or crystals– just anything reflective,” I inform, “I haven’t heard of someone using blood before, well, not unless you count seers or high priests back in the Medieval and Renaissance period, but that was small amounts of blood on a mirror and you said it was a bowl, right?”

“Yeah, she was talking into it. She was communicating with someone,” he answers. I wet my lips, thinking over everything I know, things I had to teach myself from countless books and journals. “With who? With the Daeva?” Dean asks.

“No, you said those things were savages. No, this was someone different. Someone who’s giving her orders. Someone who’s comin’ to that warehouse,” Sam answers.

“Scrying is usually used to locate someone or something–”

“Wait,” Sam cuts me off, “Why didn’t you try that with our Dad?”

“She did, it didn’t work,” Dean answers, sticking up for me. I nod, “It was the first thing I tried, your father didn’t—doesn’t want to be found. Although I know what he looks like it’s easier to use a personal item, which isn’t something available.”

“His journal,” Sam spits out, and for a moment I almost think he might be desperate to find his Dad. “It’s not that simple. It needs to be a personal item, not something that's been passed about. It’s been in your and Dean’s possession, it’s not personal even if it’s technically his journal,” I explain.

Dean moves back to the table we had been sitting at more than an hour ago, flipping through the files he had gotten. “And now back to the scrying,” I continue, “It’s mediums that do the summoning and communications with crystal balls because of the quartz acting as a divination tool. To use blood in a bowl?” I sigh, “I don’t know…It doesn’t really make sense unless she was using something else.”

“Holy crap,” Dean says suddenly. My eyes turn to him, Sam turning halfway around to view his brother, “What?” he asks.

“What I was gonna tell you earlier—I pulled a favor with my,” he clears his throat, eyes turning to the floor as he says, “...friend, Amy, over at the police department.” I ignore the drop of my heart, it isn’t the time and it isn’t like this is the first time. “The complete records of the two victims—we missed something the first time.”

“What?” Sam asks again, moving over to look at the records. “The first victim, the old man—he spent his whole life in Chicago, but he wasn’t born here. Look where he was born,” Dean directs. Silence envelops the room for hardly half a beat before Sam reads aloud the information, “Lawrence, Kansas.”

“Mmhmm,” Dean hums, picking up the next file, “Meredith, second victim—turns out she was adopted. And guess where she’s from.” The atmosphere seems to change, something heavy settling over us, weighing on our shoulders. “Holy crap,” Sam breathes, settling in the seat across from his brother.

“Yeah.”

“I mean, it is where the demon killed Mom. That’s where everything started,” Sam acknowledges, “So, you think Meg’s tied up with the demon?”

“I think it’s a definite possibility,” Dean responds. And there’s something about this moment that feels too final—a bad feeling. “But I don't understand. What’s the significance of Lawrence? And how do these Daaeva things fit in?” Sam points out, and I feel sick for a reason I cannot explain. “Beats me,” Dean answers.

My hands brace the edge of the bed on either side of my legs, a heavy feeling in my gut, “You are,” I breathe. I feel their eyes on me but it’s like I can’t or shouldn’t lift my eyes from the bland carpet. “It’s like this entire thing was a long line of dominos and it’s hitting now…this,” I force my eyes up to look at them, “this isn’t good.”

“You gotta give us more than that, sweetheart,” Dean pushes, their faces somewhere between nervous and taken aback. But the worlds were hard to form, it made sense in my head and I could feel it, this sick horrible feeling, “It just feels too connected, everything. Why your Dad went AWOL, why you got Sam, and why he’s sticking around, the connection around Meg, Sam’s forming abilities…this just doesn’t feel good.”

“You think it’s a trap?” Sam asks. I shrug, I don’t know what I mean other than I just have a horrible feeling, “Maybe.”

“Unless you got a better idea I say we trash that black altar, grab Meg, and have ourselves a friendly little interrogation,” Dean suggests.

“No, we can’t. We shouldn’t tip her off. We’ve gotta stake out that warehouse. We’ve gotta see who, or what, is showin’ up to meet her,” Sam counters, “And it’ll give us the upper hand if it is a trap.”

Dean seems to null it over before nodding, “Trap or not, I’ll tell you one thing. I don’t think we should do this alone.”

****

Nerves course through my veins, the bad feeling still there, and no matter how much I tried to reassure myself, it wouldn’t go away. I try to make myself look busy by looking through my spell book, while Dean calls his Dad, “We think we’ve got a serious lead on the thing that killed Mom. So, uh, this warehouse— it’s 1435 West Erie. Dad, if you get this, get to Chicago as soon as you can.” He hangs up, putting the phone in his pocket, and that twist of worry deep in his irises is enough to know he did not get an answer. The door opens slowly, a duffle bag leading the way in before Sam’s body follows in with more bags, “Voicemail?” he asks immediately. I put my book back in my bag, getting up to take one of the bags from Sam and carrying it over to one of the beds. “Yeah,” Dean answers before gesturing to the bags, “Jesus, what’d you get?”

Sam chuckles, “I ransacked that trunk. Holy water, every weapon that I could think of, exorcism rituals from about a half dozen religions. I’m not sure what to expect, so I guess we should just expect everything.”

“Well, you certainly are prepared,” I remark. All of us falling into the silence of getting ready for a hunt, preparing the guns–loading each one carefully. “Big night,” Dean says, breaking the silence.

“Yeah. ‘You nervous?” Sam asks.

“No. Why, are you?” Dean throws back.

“No. No way,” Sam answers. I look up from the weapon in my hand and eye the two of them, “In the hypothetical situation in which you were nervous, it would be okay to be, natural even.” I’m careful with how to frame the words, any other way and they would insist they weren’t, even if it was clear with how the stiff air moves around us. They don’t say anything further, letting silence envelop us once more for a beat before Sam breaks it this time, “God, could you imagine we actually found that damn thing? That demon?” The palpable hope in his voice makes my heart twist, it didn’t feel like this would be the end even if that would be the more convenient solution. But I don’t want to be the one to break his hope with being realistic. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, all right?” Dean replies.

“I know. I’m just sayin’, what if we did? What if this whole thing was over tonight? Man, I’d sleep for a month,” he entertains the idea, “‘Go back to school—be a person again.”

“You wanna go back to school?” Dean asks.

“Yeah, once we’re done huntin’ the thing,” he answers. I admire his want for normalcy, the push for it. I wish it was that easy, though for him I suppose it is. “Huh,” Dean hums and his distaste for that answer is beyond clear. It was the making of a continued argument. “Why, is there somethin’ wrong with that?” Sam retorts.

“No. No, it’s, uh, great. Good for you,” Dean answers, not doing a great job of being convincing.

“I mean, what are you gonna do when it’s all over?” Sam asks, and I despise myself for not having an answer. “It’s never gonna be over. There’s gonna be others. There’s always gonna be somethin’ to hunt,” Dean argues.

“But there’s got to be somethin’! Come on, Y/N, I know you have dreams,” Sam reasons, roping me into a conversation that requires a lot more self-reflection than I want to deal with at the moment. I shrug with one shoulder, but my heart beats in that slow painful way when you know what you want but can’t get, when you yearn more than you are allowed to, “Normalcy isn’t really in my books….it’s not in my blood.” I bite on my bottom lip, containing feelings that could be opened for another night. “But you have them, don’t you?” Sam pushes. I peer up from the weapon in my hands, it feels heavier all of a sudden, “Um…yeah, I do have dreams…we all do,” my eyes flicker to Dean then down at loading the gun in my hands. There was a handful of things I wanted but wants often stay as what they are….wants. “Dean, there’s got to be somethin’ that you want for yourself—”

“Yeah, I don’t want you to leave the second this thing’s over, Sam,” he stressed, moving to a dresser that’s across the room. “Dude, what’s your problem?” Sam pushes. But Dean’s silent and I can only imagine what’s going through his mind. He turns back, “Why do you think I drag you everywhere? Huh? I mean, why do you think I came and got you at Stanford in the first place?”

This is the kind of argument I shouldn’t be in the room for, something that should be private but breaks out anyway. “‘Cause Dad was in trouble. ‘Cause you wanted to find the thing that killed Mom,” he answers like it's obvious.

“Yes, that, but it’s more than that, man,” Dean presses, turning back to the dresser and then once more towards his brother, “You and me and Dad—I mean, I want us…I want us to be together again. I want us to be a family again.” Anguish was clear in his green eyes, his voice dripping with vulnerability, it wouldn’t be much longer till he was claming up again, putting on his hard man persona. I wish he would realize that while they were a family it wasn’t a good dynamic. Sam had every reason to want out, it was just Dean who was stuck in the construct his father had built. But that’s a difficult realization, it doesn’t matter how much others point out, though maybe I shouldn’t be talking. “Dean, we are a family. I’d do anything for you. But things will never be the way they were before.”

Dean looks like his heart was ripped from his chest, though that would hurt less, “Could be,” he says sadly, a last-ditch effort at reasoning. “I don’t want them to be. I’m not gonna live this life forever. Dean, when this is all over, you’re gonna have to let me go my own way.”

Hands gripping cold metal. Up, up, up. I never thought I’d climb up an elevator shaft, but there are firsts for everything. Finally, my feet hit the landing and I silently squeeze through the space of the elevator gate following right behind Dean. Meg’s voice seemed to echo in the silent dark, her tongue twisting with the ancient language. It sounded like something close to Latin, but not quite.

We moved crouched down, strategic steps taken to make as little noise as possible, our guns drawn and aimed at her back. Creeping in the dark. We hide behind some crates, convenient. The sound of her voice stops, the candlelight from her altar dancing against the walls. “Guys,” she says suddenly. She knows we’re here. I feel the boys tense on either side of me, they shouldn’t be so surprised. Being right all the time is a curse at this point. “Hiding’s a little bit childish, don’t you think?” she drawls.

“Well, that didn’t work out like I planned,” Dean announces. Her feet shuffle, the room so quiet you can hear the very small miscellaneous gravel crunching with her turn. She must be staring at us, the crates might as well have not been there with the way I can feel her intense gaze through the wood. “Why don’t you come out?” she asks, her voice so smooth and so teasing. We give each other a look, a shared understanding before reluctantly coming out from behind the crates, guns still trained on her. “Sam, I have to say, this puts a real crimp in our relationship,” she purrs. Her yellow leather jacket standing out in the dark. Why’d she have to pull it off so well? “Yeah, tell me about it,” he retorts.

“So, where’s your little Daeva friend?” Dean asks, motioning with a nod of his chin.

“Around,” she muses, “You know, that shotgun’s not gonna do much good.”

“Oh, don’t worry, sweetheart, the shotgun’s not for the demon,” Dean smirks, and there has to be something wrong with me to think that was hot in a situation like this. “So, who is it, Meg? Who’s coming? Who are you waiting for?” Sam spits, question after question firing quickly.

“You,” she smirks, eyes feigning innocence. Something creeps in the shadows, my gun is launched from my hands. The sound of skin breaking echoes in the room, my skin burns. I land on my back hard, the cold concrete floor ricocheting in my spine, blood drips down my abdomen in the shape of a claw mark.

****

My eyes flicker open, something tight around me. “Well, look who’s up early,” Meg teases, leaning against the altar’s table, looking at her nails bored. I move my eyes across the room, Sam and Dean tied up on separate polls close to each other. A claw-like scratch mark ran across Sam’s cheek and another on the side of his neck. Dean’s temple bleeds, blood dripping down the side of his face, another on his shoulder. Both of them knocked out.

I was placed towards the middle of the room, closer to the altar than them, a stupid decision. Rough ropes bind me, just like them, another stupid decision. A decision that makes it clear she doesn’t know what I am. I peer down at my abdomen, my shirt ripped with a claw mark, my skin already pinching itself back together. “Early bird gets the worm,” I joke. She walks slowly over to me, eyes trained down to meet mine. It’d be so easy to get out of the ropes and have my hands on her, just hardly half a second. Was it worth it to wait? Would she spill her grand plan? They always do. “Do you always keep your guests tied up?” I ask, wanting to get her talking. She stops by my feet, and slowly, ever so slowly begins to kneel, my eyes following her movement down. “Only the ones that trespass,” she breathes, her eyes gleaming with something dangerously playful.

“You know, I have to say your whole plan was quite genius,” I start, leading her into confession, “Even the victims being from Lawrence, ‘nice touch, good way to draw us in.”

She smirks, “Flattery will get you nowhere.”

“Hey, Sam? Don’t take this the wrong way, but your girlfriend…” Dean’s voice breaks through the room, “is a bitch.”

“You killed those two people for nothin’” Sam spits, ignoring his brother's comment. Her head lolls towards his voice, the smirk on her lips deepening. She turns her full attention to him, both boys now awake. She twists her body towards them, her hands now on the ground, on all fours she slowly crawls towards them, her back perfectly arched, “Baby, I’ve killed a lot more for a lot less,” she drawls.

“You trapped us. Good for you. It’s Miller time,” Dean smiles, “But why don’t you kill us already?”

“Not very quick on the uptake, are we?” she draws closer to him, leaning in, “This trap isn’t for you.”

“Dad,” Sam murmured, the piece falling into place, “It’s a trap for Dad.”

“Can we start listening to anything I say?!” I exclaim.

“Oh, sweetheart, you’re dumber than you look. ‘Cause even if Dad was in town, which he is not, he wouldn’t walk into something like this. He’s too good,” Dean points out, ignoring my wonderful point.

“He is pretty good. I’ll give you that,” she moves over him, straddling his legs and sitting right in his lap, “But you see, he has one weakness.”

“What’s that?” he asks.

“You,” she breathes, “He lets his guard down around his boys, lets his emotions cloud his judgment. I happen to know he is in town. And he’ll come and try to save you. And then the Daevas will kill everybody…nice and slow and messy.”

“Why you doin’ this, Meg?” Sam cuts in, “What kind of deal you got worked out here, huh? And with who?”

“I’m doing this for the same reasons you do what you do…loyalty. Love. Like the love you had for Mommy—and Jess.”

“Go to hell,” Sam spits.

“Baby, I’m already there,” she smiles, voice like velvet. She slides over to him, “Come on, Sam. There’s no need to be nasty,” she leans closer, her voice dropping, “I think we both know how you really feel about me. You know, I saw you watching me changing in my apartment. Turned you on, didn’t it?” She seizes something in her hand that I cannot see from here until it’s sliding across the floor. His pocket knife. But this doesn’t seem to interrupt her, like she expected it.

“Get a room, you two,” Dean groans.

“I didn’t mind. I liked that you were watching me. Come on, Sammy. You and I can still have a little dirty fun,” wet noises fill the room as she places kiss after kiss on his neck. “You wanna have fun? Go ahead then. I’m a little tied up right now,” he remarks. She continues to kiss down his neck until the sound of metal against metal breaks through the noise of her kissing. She gets up and walks behind Dean’s post, taking his pocket knife and throwing it into the corner somewhere. She rounds the post once more, standing as she looks down at them, “You two never know when to give up, do you?” She spins towards me, “Wanna give up yours now?”

I smirk, slipping from the ropes easily, “Oh baby, I don’t need a knife.” I get up, the shadows rushing forward, I hold up a fist, halting their movements, like rabid dogs on a tight leash. Her face contorts in confusion, eyes widening, “Now you and I can have fun,” I tease, “Unless, of course, you don’t like getting your hands dirty.”

“Trust me, I have no problem getting dirty,” she answers, eyes moving slowly down my frame. The real trouble is deciding how to handle her, there is so much I could do without breaking a sweat, or I can stick to basic fighting—keep it fair. She rolls her shoulders back, raising her fists in a basic fighting stance. But, maybe it’d be good to send a message. Maybe it would be fine to play dirty just this once……

A purple-tinted fog seeps into the room, tendrils curling along the floor like ghostly fingers. A quiet breeze snakes through the room, an eerie whisper being carried with it. It shoots through the room, darkening, shadows stretching and deepening, the candles extinguishing with a soft hush. The confines of the room dissolve, leaving only the two of us in a void of darkness, smoke swirling around our ankles like serpents. Her hands drop to her side, eyes darting around the room, “What is this?” she snaps. Hushed whispers fill the air, a cacophony of chanting, the words overlapping and blending into a horrific murmur. I appear behind her, my hands gliding over her eyes like curtains blocking out the dim light, “Open your eyes,” I whisper. The fog thickens, rising like a living entity, coiling around us, higher and higher, until I too am swallowed by its depths and fall away.

Suddenly, the room flickers with a harsh, red light, pulsating in erratic bursts, casting shadows that dance wildly. She covers her head with her hands, folding into herself as she stumbles forward, trying to escape the terror. In the brief flashes of red, she catches glimpses of the Daevas— for her eyes to see only. Her scream pierces the air, raw and primal, as the true sight of the Daevas sear into her mind.

The smoke and visions vanish as a sharp crash reverberates through the room, the altar table crashing to the ground as she falls into it. Freed from their binds, the Daevas surge forward, dark forms slipping through the shadows. Scratch after scratch appears on her skin, the unseen monsters marking her flesh. She screams again, a desperate, guttural sound, as she is dragged by her ankles, her nails clawing futilely at the ground. With a final, terrifying force, she is hurled through the window, the glass exploding outward, shards glittering like deadly stars as she falls to her demise with a sickening thud. “Fuck!” I curse, running to the broken window, her body sprawled on the concrete, blood-forming beneath her. Oh god. With a distracted flick of my wrist, the ropes that held the boys come undone– the only tangible, helpful thing I could do. I messed up. I messed up. “I didn’t mean to,” I mumble, stepping away from the window, “I was just trying to show h–I didn’t me–”

“What did you show her?” Sam asks, moving past me to peer out the window. I tried to find an ounce of an accusatory tone, but there was nothing to find. “The Daevas, I wanted her to be as scared as those two people were when they died…But! I didn’t mean to kill her, I didn’t mean to, I swear.” A familiar hand touches my shoulder, but I move from his hold, I shouldn’t be touched. “It’s okay, sweetheart, we know you wouldn’t have done it on purpose,” he tries to comfort but I am not worthy of it. I want to tell him he’s wrong. I can do something like that. I just did it now, she’s dead and it’s my fault. I did too much. I shouldn’t have scared her like that, it was cruel and unnecessary and she might still be alive if I didn’t. He’s wrong. Dean’s wrong and Sam should accuse me, and they should be scared. I’m not who they think I am.

“So, I guess the Daevas didn’t like being bossed around,” Sam acknowledges as if nothing had happened, as if I didn’t just kill her. “Yeah, I guess not,” Dean agrees, moving over to stand by his brother at the window, viewing my crime, “Hey, Sam?”

“Hm?” he hums in response.

“Next time you wanna get laid, find a girl that’s not so buckets-o’-crazy, huh?” Dean smiles, walking away. I hear him picking up their discarded items, the guns, the duffle, Sam joining him. I hear the click of the heavy metal door, we could use the emergency stairs, no need to be sneaking around, “You coming?” Dean asks. I run my hands down my face, glad my back is to him, I won’t be able to repent for this sin. Dad would know how I could repent, or, at least make sense of it. “Uh, yeah, yeah,” I nod.

“Why didn’t you just leave that stuff in the car?” Dean asks as we move down the hall, forced to help carry heavy bags of weapons and other stuff. “I said it before, and I’ll say it again—better safe than sorry,” Sam explains. Dean leaves it at that as he unlocks the door, pushing it open for us. It felt wrong to talk so casually after the death of someone else, someone I killed. It didn’t matter whether I meant to or not because either way she was dead and it was all my fault. I didn’t deserve casual talk. I know things happen on hunts, you see a lot of things and do a lot of things and I've had my fair share of both, and I know you have to move on—holding on is what gets you killed. But it’s easier said than done, I can’t just forget I killed someone. My thoughts halt as do our steps at the sight of a man standing by the window, the dark cloaking him.

“Hey!” Dean shouts, his brother flicking on the lights quickly. The man turns, the new light illuminating his familiar features. “Dad?” Dean breathes the question, shock evident in the way the exhale passes his lips. Meg was right, he was in town. “Hey, boys,” he greets and like the spell of shock broke Dean and him walk towards each other. Their arms wrap around each other in a big bear hug. I may not like John Winchester, not one bit, but I’m glad he can have this moment with his Dad, where for just a moment everything’s alright.

They pull away from each other and his eyes finally land on his youngest son, “Hi, Sam.” They do not move to hug, not even a muscle, “Hey, Dad,” he answers softly. There’s an understanding that seems to pass through them with just that gaze, maybe they didn’t need to hug or maybe it was because John just wouldn’t. His eyes move to me next and he gives me a quick nod, an acknowledgement of my existence and I give one right back. “Dad, it was a trap. I didn’t know, I’m sorry,” Dean rushes to say.

“It’s all right. I thought it might’ve been,” he answers, a man who was always two steps ahead and then some. “Were you there?” Dean asks.

“Yeah, I got there just in time to see the girl take the swan dive,” the memory of the glass shattering and her screams getting further away flashes in my mind, “She was the bad guy, right?”

“Yes, sir,” both boys answer at the same time, their tones the same- just like they were taught. “Good. Well, it doesn’t surprise me. It’s tried to stop me before,” he informs.

“The demon has?” Sam asks.

“It knows I’m close. It knows I’m gonna kill it. Not just excoriate it or send it back to hell—actually kill it,” he explains, words sharp on his tongue. “How?” Dean pushes.

John smiles, “I’m workin’ on that.”

“Let us come with you. We’ll help,” Sam insists, and I don’t miss the warning glare his brother throws him. “No, Sam. Not yet. Just try to understand. This demon is a scary son of a bitch. I don’t want you caught in a crossfire. I don’t want you hurt,” John reasons.

“Dad, you don’t have to worry about us,” he counters.

“Of course I do. I’m your father,” John pauses, and if I were a bolder person I’d list all the times just in the last couple of months where he clearly hadn’t been worried enough to show up when his own sons were calling for help— when one of his sons was on his deathbed, “Listen, Sammy, last time we were together, we had one hell of a fight.”

“Yes, sir,” Sam replies.

“It’s good to see you again. It’s been a long time,” he said warmly.

“Too long,” Sam answers, and finally they embrace, arms tight around each other. When they pull away the family shares a teary eyed look, a relief to be back together.

Suddenly, John is thrown sideways, crashing into a set of cabinets as Sam is thrown back against the door. “Frick!” I curse, one hand in a fist as I hold them back once more, this time they fight harder against my hold, tugging at it. “Dean! Get them out of here,” I order. He rushes to his Dad, throwing his arm around his shoulder as Sam shuffles his way up the wall to hold himself. The Daevas tug on my hold again, like rabid dogs pulling on their leash with bared teeth. “What about you?!” Dean asks from somewhere behind me.

“I’ll be right behind you,” I answer. This seems to satisfy him enough for him to continue to leave, it’s only when I’m sure they’re gone that I light up the room with a blinding bright light. Pure light beams from my free hand, growing until it reaches every inch of the room, like the sun rising on a meadow. I squint my eyes against the bright light, not wanting to risk closing them despite the pain of the light. Their tugs immediately stop, some feeling like they were trying to pull away. I keep it up for a count of 10, there isn’t a science to this other then shadows can’t exist without darkness. I don’t know if there is a ‘right amount of time.’ But, with the light so blinding and the tugging completely gone I decide they must be gone for good.

I shut it all down, no more emitting light and no hold, before rushing out the door and down the nearest stairs. My shoes hit the asphalt hard as I head to the Impala, hidden in an alley behind the motel. Immediately I see the group of boys and hurry my steps. “They’re gone,” I inform, my chest rising and falling quickly, “They shouldn’t be coming back, that should be it.”

“All right, come on. In case it isn’t over, we should go,” Sam urges, throwing the duffle into the backseat.

“Wait, wait, wait! Sam, wait,” Dean insisted, “Dad, you can’t come with us.”

“What? What are you talkin’ about?” Sam exclaims.

“You boys…you’re beat to hell,” John points out, eyes taking in each visible wound.

“We’ll be all right,” Dean convinces.

“I’ll take care of them,” I add, it wouldn’t be the first time I healed them and it would never be the last. “You shouldn’t even be here,” John bites. I give a tight lipped smile, the best I can do to not go completely off, “Yeah, well look who saved your life.” He opens his mouth to say some other harsh thing when Sam cuts in, arguing with his brother, “Dean, we should stick together. We’ll go after those demons—“

“Sam! Listen to me!” Dean yells, “We almost got Dad killed in there. Don’t you understand? They’re not gonna stop. They’re gonna try again. They’re gonna use us to get to him. I mean, Meg was right. Dad’s vulnerable when he’s with us. He—he’s stronger without us around.”

Sam shakes his head, not accepting this reality, “Dad, no” he puts a hand on his father shoulder as if willing him to say Dean was wrong, “After everything—-after all the time we spent lookin’ for you—please. I gotta be a part of this fight.”

“Sammy, this fight is just starting. And we are all gonna have a part to play. For now, you’ve got to trust me, son.” But Sam shakes his head. “Okay, you’ve gotta let me go,” John continues. The alleyway falls silent, the air thick with emotion that would not spill. Finally, Sam pats his fathers shoulder once, then let’s go. John and Dean share a look, then he walks to his truck, parked on the street just outside the alley. “Be careful, boys,” he says before getting into the old truck and driving away. Who knows when we’ll see John Winchester next.

[animentality]

So one thing I wish we’d seen fleshed out a bit more is whether or not Gortash is actually decent in combat. The fight against him is pretty lame at least compared to other bosses and while we know he’s adept with his crossbow we don’t see it get significant use. We know that he hired Karlach as a bodyguard, implying that he may not be confident enough in his skills to keep himself safe from threats. I think she also described him as an indoorsy type at one point, or something to that effect. He relies heavily on the steel watch and guards for safety, which feels pretty par for the course for a wanna be dictator to be fair, but also suggests that he’d rather not end up in direct combat himself. Iirc he also doesn’t have a backup weapon apart from the arbalest but I may be blanking on that.

However, we also know that Durge considered the Hall of Wonders heist a means of testing his mettle in combat, and the fact that they went on to work closely with him suggests that he proved himself in one way or another. The fact that he got his start in Baldurs Gate in a gang before moving on to smuggling and arms dealing seems to suggest a likelihood of some type of fighting proficiency, even if just in knowing how to brawl. And while we don’t know much about the Mephistopheles heist, it’s hard to imagine Durge walking into the Hells next to someone who is useless if shit hits the proverbial fan.

All this to say it almost feels wishy washy as far as if we’re supposed to take away the idea that without outside help is Gortash basically all but defenseless, or he’s dangerous and would just rather not get blood on his hands. The Orin fight is a little disappointing too, but we know from the game just how dangerous she’s supposed to be, likewise with Ketheric. Part of me blames the fact that he doesn’t have an (official in the game) class for us to make better assumptions off of. In fact, all of this really makes me warm up to the idea that he should have been an artificer with a gun, because that seems like the perfect fit for his character.

ANON, Gortash makes no fucking sense stat wise.

He has BOOSTED stats even though he's like an Artificer and his best stat SHOULD BE intelligence.

He used a magical crossbow, EXCEPT HE HAS GAUNTLETS FOR PUNCHING WITH HIS BARE HANDS?

He technically belonged to a gang back when he was young, but you expect me to believe a dude who plays with ranged toys really wants to GRAPPLE with people?

EXCEPT THAT HE DOES?

Which is so weird.

Plus he seems to love traps and buffs and debuffs, and relying on the Steel Watch, but then it still doesn't make sense with the gauntlets????

So I don't know.

He SEEMS like a squishy little wizard nerd, but the game thinks he has amazing stats even though he looks like a pathetic wet kitten that spilled its milk bowl on itself.

Look at this fucker's stats???

Why does he have high strength and dex and intelligence and wisdom and charisma????

Excuse me?

This freak?????

NO.

His intelligence and charisma, fine, but his wisdom and dex should be 10.

Strength I'll give him only because I suspect he has to at least marginally lift shit to work on in his workshop, maybe.

But dex???? No.

This man does NOT get up out of his office chair. His spine is deforming.

Plus this bitch ain't wise! He's intelligent, but he's not WISE.

Just look what happened with the netherbrain. Didn't see that shit coming, now did he?

[bloodmoonmuses]

the weatherman's weathered heart | mark lee

genre: weatherman! mark lee x reader, enemies to lovers, slowburn-ish

[previous chapter] [series masterlist]

chapter two: the shirt

You resent letting your sense of justice prevail as you slither into Mark’s junky ass Prius. It’s cluttered with files and binders in addition to textbooks that are strewn haphazardly across the backseat. Most of the books are about meteorology, but you spot a music theory textbook as well.  

You sit quietly in the passenger seat, fiddling with your hands. Despite having a driving license, you don’t have a car of your own, resulting in you usually catching a ride with Hongjoong when needed. To be honest, you don’t really have many friends outside of Hongjoong. Perhaps you need to get out more- you’ve forgotten how to socialize. The awkward atmosphere is suffocating.

For a bit, you contemplate calling the whole thing off. Maybe this wasn’t necessary. Maybe you could be a nice person for the sake of being nice, instead of extorting the man for a shirt.

Then, you glance at your top, the coffee stain staring back at you angrily. It was a gift from Hongjoong, actually- a silk blouse he had thrifted in Japan. You wear it so often, it’s worn at the seams. It was due for a replacement anyway. Now you could do so on someone else’s dime.

At last, Mark breaks the silence. “What store do you wanna go to?” he asks. Since it’s thrifted, you’re not even sure where your blouse is from, nor do you know where to get something similar.

“Could you, um, check the brand on my tag?” you ask.

Mark gives you a look. It’s a mostly neutral one, but there’s something in his eye as he puts his phone down to fulfill your request. “Here,” he says, “turn around.” 

You do as you’re told and Mark places his fingers on the collar of your top, flipping it outward to read the tag. Briefly, his fingertips make contact with your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. You hope he doesn’t notice you shudder.

“It says…Banana Republic. I think there’s one across town.” When Mark pulls away from you, you instantly miss his warmth. The feeling of loss settles in your gut, the ache extending to your tender fingertips. 

You’re touch-starved. And it’s cold out. (-is what you tell yourself to justify your yearning body.  Shaking the thoughts away, you put on your seatbelt. 

Mark puts the address into a navigation app and drives away from the printing shop. When you’ve been riding for a few (silent) minutes, you get a text from Hongjoong:

HJ (derogatory): [Spotify Link] “Make His Pockets Hurt” by Lil Kayla. Listen Now!

You: [eye roll emoji]

HJ (derogatory): u know what to do.

You roll your eyes, in real life this time, stifling a laugh. Mark eyes you in the rearview mirror. 

“What’s so funny?” he says, pouting for being left out of the joke. Cute. 

“Nothing!” you say. You close out of Hongjoong’s message, putting your phone back in your purse. 

The Banana Republic you arrive at is desolate. There’s an old lady at the cashier, who genuinely looks like she’s on the brink of death- respectfully. You and Mark linger around the front entrance, unsure of how to proceed.

You glance at him. “Should I… grab a few things and try them on?”

“I don’t care. As long as I can get that paper edited,” he retorts, aimlessly scrolling on his phone. Not cute. 

“Suit yourself.” You begin to peruse the blouse section, picking up a few beige ones. One has a ruffle at the neck, one has a bow and the final one has puffy sleeves. As you gather options, Mark takes a seat in the waiting area outside of the dressing rooms.

“Okay, gonna try these on,” you tell him, gesturing with your head. Mark waves you off wordlessly, promptly returning to his phone.

You end up liking the blouse with the bow the most. It’s a little cuter than your usual style, but you wanted to try something new. When you walk out of the dressing room with the top, Mark looks at you incredulously. 

“You’re getting that?” he says.

“Well, what would you suggest, Mark?” You’re a bit agitated. You wanted this to be an in-and-out situation, not a day-long ordeal. Also, what’s wrong with the bow blouse? It’s nice!

Mark looks you over, again, then glances at the blouse as if it had cursed his mother. “Anything but that.”

Now you’re the one pouting. “I don’t really care about your opinion. So.”

“I’m not paying for that hideous thing,” Mark states, crossing his arms with finality. 

You sigh, attempting to make your voice sound less annoyed. “That takes me back to my previous question. What would you suggest?” 

Mark looks around. “Gimme a sec.”

Before you know it, Mark is heading towards the blouses, scanning the selection. Instead of all beige, Mark picks up an array of tops in jewel tones. He looks at you, then the tops, then you again, deciding to put down a maroon top.

“Too flashy.” He simply says. Mark shoves the pile of tops into your arms, jutting his head towards the dressing rooms. “Are you gonna try these on or what?” 

So pushy, you think, but you do as you’re told. This time, you walk out each time you try on a new top, Mark giving feedback on each option.

The plum top ages you, Mark says. The golden blouse is cut too similarly to the despised bow top, and the lighter green top is too fluorescent. It isn’t until you walk out in an emerald blouse with a v-neckline, that Mark’s critiques come to a halt.

“What? This one’s hideous too?” you say. You swear you see his eyes flick downwards for a half a second. Your face gets hot.

Mark coughs. “It’s fine, I guess.”

You roll your eyes. “Then let’s get it. I guess. Need to get back to the shop anyway.”

After changing out of the shirt, you walk up to the register behind Mark. Maybe you’re overly frugal, but sixty dollars for a piece of fabric is insane to you. Hongjoong will be happy, at least. Though, the top looks nothing like the one he got you. 

As she’s ringing him up, the lady behind the register looks at you and Mark. “Buying this blouse for your partner here, I assume?” Then she turns to you. “This color is gonna look lovely on you.” 

Mark scrunches his nose. “Not my partner,” he quickly amends. “We’re… uh.. acquaintances.”

With that, the two of you exit the store.

The car ride back to the printing shop is even more awkward than the ride out. You feel bad for practically blackmailing the guy, especially considering there was no guarantee the newspaper would edit the article. Speaking of which-

“So if it isn’t tax fraud, what did you do?” you say without really thinking. The curiosity was killing you. You expect Mark to brush you off immediately, but he answers promptly.

“Huh? Oh, you mean the article.” He turns into the parking lot, switching off the ignition. You look at Mark, expecting him to exit the car, but he sits. For a moment, he’s lost in thought, eyes far away from the small space you share. 

“Hey, I’m just kidding-” 

“I’m-” Mark cuts you off, “divorced… and the journalist included my ex wife’s name. It read more like a tabloid than a genuine interview. I was just expecting something more… earnest. Not sure why,” he admits. 

You’re not exactly sure how to respond to this. If anything, you’re fascinated. Mark looks so young, no older than 25. 

He’s fallen in love, gotten married and divorced in that time? It must’ve been a pretty bad fall out- he can barely get the word “divorce” out of his mouth. Plus, the lengths he’s willingly to go to to have this article axed is evidence enough of the hurt. This wound is fresh. And that “journalist” is an asshole. 

“Don’t do that,” Mark says, looking at you through the rearview mirror.

“Do what?” 

“Pity me,” Mark says. “Don’t pity me.” 

“I don’t pity you,” you huff. “This whole situation sucks. I’m really sorry.”

Mark chuckles. “Don’t be sorry either.”

“Sorry- I mean, okay.” 

A beat passes, during which neither of you say anything, and Mark shifts to look at you. For real this time. Not through a mirror.

“Do you think they’ll change the article?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper. 

Probably not, you think. But for his sake, to rid his eyes of the pain glistening in them, you hope to god those assholes at the newspaper get rid of that part as requested.

“Yeah. Of course.” You exit the car, shoulders tense with anxiety.

Hongjoong is at the front counter, sketching in a notepad, when you and Mark walk into the printing shop.

“Have fun?” Hongjoong inquires.

“Not really,” you say, placing your shopping bag on the counter. 

Hongjoong inspects its contents, humming in approval of the blouse. “Not bad,” he says.

Mark scoffs. “Should I take down your number?” he asks you.

“Yeah, probably.” You write it down and hand it over. “I’ll shoot you a text when I hear back from the newspaper goons.”

Mark laughs at this and leaves. The yearning in your gut returns. 

When it’s time to close up the shop, Honjoong packs up his things with record speed. Slinging a messenger bag over his shoulder, he says, “Wanna come over for drinks?” 

“Yeah, I’ll take a cab to your place. Gotta make a phone call real quick.” you reply.

“It’s okay, I’ll wait for you,” Hongjoong contests.

“Don’t wanna hold you up. Get outta here, nerd.”  You wave your hand at him, shooing him off. 

Hongjoong lingers in the entryway regardless, shooting daggers with his eyes. “You and your secrets…” he says.

“Secret? What secret?” You quirk an eyebrow, feeling sheepishly defensive. 

“Save it. I’ll let it slide this time,” Hongjoong states. “My place in thirty?”

You nod.

“Cool.” He lights a cigarette on his way out.

With Hongjoong now gone, you take out your phone and call the newspaper office. You’ve been printing for Jackson for years now, so you’re sure he can make an exception this one time- even if a little schmoozing is necessary. You put on your kiss-ass voice, hyping yourself up as the phone rings.

“Hey, Jackson! It’s _____ at Jagerman Printing Co.! Yes… Um, we actually had a power outage here. That, coupled with the order screw-up by the intern… we’re swamped over here... Just scrap the whole thing? Oh, it’ll be fine. Yeah, of course! I’ll take a bit off of next week's orders. And I know your daughter’s birthday party is coming up, so consider her invitations on the house. Sounds good! Thanks!” 

When you hang up the phone, you sigh. Canceling a whole week of orders for a guy you just met… It wasn’t exactly logically sound. You’ll have to open commissions to account for the dip in income- extra work you can take up without Hongjoong knowing. Without Mark knowing.

Kindness for the sake of being kind. Before you head out to meet up with Hongjoong, you text Mark:

You: the newspaper goons had a change of heart. have a nice night :) 

Early the next morning, you beat Hongjoong to the printing shop. You watch the sunrise from your desk, its light flooding the room with a golden sheen. Briefly, you think about your actions from the night before. Surely you were out of your mind. Canceling a week’s worth of printing for some smarmy weatherman? It’s ridiculous. 

Well, it’s too late now. It’s not like Hongjoong would care. He’ll be happy to hear the lack of work necessary on a Friday. He’s probably hungover from last night anyway. The door swings open.

You expect to see Joong, but when you lift your head, it’s Mark. You walk to meet him at the front of the shop. He’s not in a suit today. Instead, he looks way more his age. He’s in a band tee and jeans. Perhaps this was what his fashion advice was founded on. It’s a stark difference from his weatherman get-up. Mark is also holding a bouquet of flowers.

He places the flowers on the counter delicately, beaming at you. “For the shop,” he states. You make a mental note to buy a vase for them.

Mark’s smile is absolutely blinding. You look away like someone just waved a flashlight directly into your eyes.

“I don’t know what you did- or if you did anything, but I just wanna say thank you,” Mark says. 

What a change in tune for someone who literally spilled coffee on you without a second glance just a day ago. Maybe this weatherman isn’t so bad after all. 

“Um, I didn’t really do much, in all honesty, but I’m glad everything worked out.” you respond.

You’re not sure why you felt the need to lie. Actually, you know exactly why. You’re too prideful. 

“Well, thank you anyway. I could literally cry,” he retorts with a chuckle.

“Please don’t,” you say jokingly. 

Mark thinks for a moment. “How can I repay you?”

“Like I said, I didn’t do anything. And you already got me this shirt.” You gesture to the emerald top from yesterday.

If you knew he’d be here today, you wouldn’t have worn it. However, as you were getting dressed this morning, you couldn't stop thinking about the way your stomach ached when Mark looked at you yesterday.

“What about I treat you to dinner?” asks Mark. “So we’ll be even.”

“I’m good, thanks.” You didn’t intend on him feeling indebted to you.

“Okay, “ Mark pivots, “Can we grab drinks instead? I’ll pay. Tomorrow 6pm.”

“With all of your weatherman money?” you joke.

Mark’s phone rings.

“I’ll text you,” says Mark. When he answers the call, he continues mouthing to you as the person on the other end of the line begins to speak. “Text me back.”

“No promises,” you mouth back.

As Mark exits the shop, Hongjoong enters. He does a double take at Mark, then looks at you inquisitively. “What was that about?”

“Nothing,” you say as a blush creeps up your neck.

a/n: unedited and feedback is always appreciated! <3

[luffyvace]

hello! can i request hairo's kisses?

yes you may nonny! 💗💗

I’m so glad to see someone requested my silly little series!!

Enjoy anon!! And thank you! <3

Hairo’s kisses!

your first kiss would probably happen a few weeks after you’ve become an official couple

And I’m talking past the dating phase

which you likely dated for at least 4 months

Hairo had no interest in romance before, canonly

But when he does get a chance to date, let alone kiss you?

he’s all over you!!

and he’s not embarrassed one bit :)

As for your first kiss 😚

he doesn’t seem like the type to be flustered easily at all

so it would simply depend on what your doing, or- more like where :P

and by this I mean if your inside at the time, your first kiss will happen in private!

if your outside at the moment? pda is fine by him 💞

he’s proud to have you as his s/o so he isn’t afraid to show it at all

in fact he’s not even thinking if others are around

he’s focused on you

i mean of course! It’s not about them!

LOL

he’s also the type of person to see they’re parents kiss and not cringe, or not be embarrassed to kiss they’re mom in front of they’re friends, for a better example

you know? He just sees it as a normal thing, not cheesy or anything

a display of affection—just as it is <3

back to the lecture at hand—

Let’s say you guys were inside at the time

I’m going to go ahead and say he catches you completely off guard

you two were doing whatever you were doing

probably chatting while doing so

and as soon as the conversation ended he leaned in and gave you a 3 second kiss

Now he is a gentleman—so directly after he realizes he didn’t ask first

”oh- uh- oops- did……did you want a kiss?”

”I should’ve asked first really! I don’t even know if that was your first kiss or if I’m moving too fast—my mom told me I might wanna wait-“

”it was fine, Hairo. I loved it”

you announced beaming

and apparently that’s infectious because he got a case of the smiles too 😊

You probably resumed what you were doing before

but not before sharing a comfortable silence while doing something sappy like cuddling for a bit or holding hands 💗

from then on he’ll give you a kiss anywhere

its not like pda is illegal or forbidden or something so he sees nothing wrong with it!

The most common kiss you’ll receive from him is a forehead kiss

to say goodbye, to say hello, to say thank you, to say good luck, to say goodnight

all of the above and more

he more so gives kisses on the lips when you two are being all cuddly n such

like a quick peck after a goodbye hug

or when your snuggled up, cooing little praises to each other

Hairo’s kisses are soft and usually short

so the ‘short and sweet’ type

his lips are actually really soft!

he doesn’t have chapped lips or anything and they’re naturally moisturized

he doesn’t even do anything or put anything on he’s just kinda lucky 😂

let him tell it, it might be because he works out- 😄

I can nor confirm or deny I have no idea I haven’t researched it

but besides the point

Hairo’s kisses are gentle and meaningful

In each and every one of his kisses you can feel the love and adoration

it sends tingles up your spine and gives you goosebumps from how loved you feel

theres always at least 2 seconds of googly eyes being exchanged after your kiss as well

whether a whole crowd is watching or not

if your not into pda you’ll have to tell him because as I said he views it in a casual (yet of course, still romantic) way

So he kinda just initiates it naturally

But don’t be hesitant to tell him your uncomfortable with it! 💓

he completely understands and will keep in all his affection til he can burst it at you in private 💝

if your okay with pda, he initiates it as normal! :)

You might as well call your man the kiss genie

because ask and you shall receive darling

If this guy isn’t the gentlest giant idk who is

💋💪

[a-boca-do-inferno]

i decide what’s appropriate (john milton x reader) [request]

summary: (y/n) is growing tired of her boss' advances.

warnings: light angst, light fluff, a little stalking

words: 0.8k

notes: just another day of wanting to fuck that old man. enjoy <3

“Giddy up, we’re going for a ride”, his voice sounds somewhat demanding, the look on his face making the girl shiver from head to toe. 

(y/n) lets out a heavy sigh as John takes her out of her thoughts. She turns to see him standing in the doorway with a wide smile. Repetitive. Things were starting to get repetitive and (y/n) didn’t have the stomach for it anymore. Could she perhaps quit the job and move out of town? Who was she kidding, in what world would John let her do such a thing? He had connections and money, she surely wasn’t getting away that easily. She couldn’t even sue the guy for his uncomfortable comments, as he was the hottest lawyer in town. Hell, John would make her pay him money for suing in the first place. That was the type of power he held. With another defeated sigh, she only complied in silence. Nothing she ever said made a difference, anyway. 

John walks with her towards his car, which probably costs more money than (y/n) will ever make in her lifetime as a secretary, and swiftly opens the door for her. “After you, sweetheart.”

(y/n) hesitates. He’s been stalking her in the office for a month now, but getting into this man’s car just seems too much. She should probably run and never look back, but her feet don’t share the same opinion as they make their way into the vehicle gracefully. The girl doesn’t even have to look at John's face to know he’s got a smug smile painting his lips while he sits beside her and turns on the engine. They drive to seemingly nowhere in particular, and his conversible causes her hair to blow with the wind as he steps into the pedal without ceremony. The breeze hitting her face is nice, and for a moment she forgets her annoyance at her boss these past few weeks.

John doesn’t say a thing for quite some time, but he keeps an eye on her every now and then. He doesn’t stop at red lights and she feels slightly anxious, however, his relaxed demeanor ends up affecting her in a good way. His confidence that they could never crash somehow soothes (y/n) and the only thing in her mind now is the sound of the roaring wind in her ears. Her hair is a mess, but she doesn’t care. For a split second, she doesn’t care about anything. Her lips curve upwards at the thought. 

John takes note of it and raises his brow. “Someone’s loosening up, I see.”

She only hums in response, closing her eyes and resting her head against the seat. “Yeah.”

“Your brother said you wanted to quit”, he says casually, but it’s clear he’s not pleased with the information. (y/n) thinks about punching Kevin in the face as John adds with a snort, “why didn’t you tell me?”

“You don’t exactly talk about quitting your job to your boss, Mr. Milton”, she laughs it off awkwardly, avoiding his piercing gaze. 

He finds the comment funny, as he chuckles along and nods. “Call me John.”

“That’s not appropriate”, (y/n) looks down at her lap, her voice sounding more submissive than she initially intended. There’s just something about this guy.

He clicks his tongue, shaking his head slowly. “I decide what’s appropriate at my firm. Don’t you worry about that, sweetheart.”

“What else did Kevin tell you?”, she gives him a questioning look. She figured they spoke of her on occasion, as it was inevitable. Kevin had been the one to recommend her to John when she moved to New York. Everything she did would weigh on him too. 

“Nothing much, really. We talk mostly about work. We’re professionals, you know?”, he grins at her knowingly, as if he had just read her mind. 

(y/n) feels a shiver up her spine, but smiles shyly. “Good.”

“I told him I wanna figure you out”, he continues, parking the car in front of a fancy restaurant. Even the doors look expensive. (y/n) stares back at him with a slight frown, trying to understand what he means by that. John gets out of the car and opens her door, offering his hand. She blushes a little and accepts his help. Her knees feel weak with his proximity, his rough palm still holding hers firmly. Their faces are close when he mumbles, his hot breath hitting her mouth, “can I?”

(y/n) reckons this is the only time her words might make a difference, after all. Yet, with his dark eyes watching her every movement like a hawk, her mind goes completely blank. She feels enchanted, under a spell. Her voice comes in a pathetic whisper, “yes.”

John smirks. 

[museumgiftshoperaser]

only bought this dress so you could take it off

(lil Ronance modern AU, neighbors kinda thing)

Robin’s already in pajamas when someone knocks on her door. And by pajamas she means she’s wearing boxers and a bleach stained shirt she stole from Steve. So she’s not exactly thrilled to get up. And why should she anyway? Sunday nights are sacred, especially now that classes started back up. It’s the one night of the week where Steve’s gone for basketball practice and she can watch whatever she wants on the TV in the living room. She loves Steve, platonic soulmates and all that jazz, but she can’t for the life of her get him to enjoy the wonders of competitive cooking shows. Like right now. A woman on the screen tilts a skillet over the fire, cooking a steak to absolute perfection as Robin pops another handful of M&Ms into her mouth. It’s quality entertainment. If she gets up now, she might miss something important. What if that woman overcooks her steak? Maybe if she keeps quiet the person will just go away. “I can hear the TV!” the voice comes through the wall, too muffled to recognize. “I need some help!” And then, after a short silence. “Please?” She rolls herself off the couch with a groan, doesn’t even care if the mystery guest can hear it. She runs a quick hand through her hair to make herself somewhat presentable opens the door and- Oh fuck. It’s her. Nancy. Their new next door neighbor and coincidentally the most beautiful person she’s ever laid eyes on. Robin clutches the doorpost so hard it hurts because her elevator crush is two feet away from her, dressed in deep blue, skintight satin. Nancy’s hair is pinned to the side and she’s holding her strapless dress up at the neckline. “Can you zip me?” she asks with a sheepish grin. “I’m running late and I’m all by myself.” Her heels make them almost the same height, but Nancy is still an inch short, leaving her to look up at Robin through her thick, black lashes. She doesn’t usually wear this much make-up. Wherever she’s going, she’s trying to impress someone. When Robin doesn’t speak, Nancy turns her back, revealing a long stretch of exposed skin. The zipper goes all the way down to her lower back. There’s a little mole next to her spine, which is a thing that Robin knows about her now, and it feels far too intimate. “Uh sure…” she mumbles. “Just… What do you…?” “It’s just a zipper, Robin.” Nancy’s back is turned, but she can hear the grin is her voice. “I’m you can figure it out.” She swallows hard. Nancy knows her name. Of course she does. They’ve talked a handful of times when they happened to enter the lobby at the same time. She came to introduce herself when she moved in last month. Still it’s weird that she takes up any mental real estate for this girl so beautiful it physically hurts. Robin takes the end of the zipper between two careful fingers, but it doesn’t budge. “It’s a bit finicky,” Nancy says and she tilts her head to the side, exposing even more of the bare skin around her neck. “Just give it a good tug.” Fucking hell. Robin places a hand on Nancy’s waist for leverage and zips the dress along the curve of her spine. She’s not wearing a bra, strapless and all, and Robin’s trying really hard not to think about that. “So where are you going?” she asks and then she just keeps talking. “You got a date? A boyfriend?” She clenches her jaw and crosses her fingers that didn’t sound weird. Just polite conversation. Making acquaintance. Right?  “Oh, God no.” Nancy turns around and smooths down the fabric over her hips. “I have yet to find a man in this city worth dressing up for.” “Tell me about it,” Robin says in a lame attempt at a joke. Nancy no doubt has different reasons for her lack of interest in the men around these parts. Like being objectively out of everyone’s league. Unlike Robin, who realized she was a lesbian back in middle school and hasn’t looked at a man since. Well, she’s technically looked at Steve, if you wanna get literal about it. But he doesn’t count. That’s practically her brother. “Nah, I’ve got a work thing,” Nancy says and she rolls her eyes. “Office party I can’t really skip.”  Robin vaguely remembers an elevator conversation where Nancy told her she worked in publishing. “Well, you look great,” she squeaks. Nancy smiles, showing off the dimples that kickstarted the elevator crush all those weeks ago. “You’re so sweet.” She doesn’t even break eye contact as she says it. Robin can feel her cheeks flush and she mentally prepares herself to scream into her pillow the second this door closes. “Which reminds me,” Nancy adds with a coy smile. “I have a little housewarming coming up next Friday. You and uh…. Steve was it?” Robin nods. “Well, you and Steve are definitely invited.” For a brief moment, Nancy’s eyes flick past her so she can sneak a glance into the living room. “Starts at eight, be sure to ask him too.” Oh. Was that her goal? Was she hoping Steve would answer? That makes sense. “We’d love to,” Robin says with a polite smile. “I’ll tell Steve, I think he’s free that night.” Nancy runs her hands along her sides one more time, smoothing down the already flawless curve of her dress. “That’d be lovely,” she says and before she turns she adds; “Can’t wait.”

[megansabode]

Good Luck, Babe

She gets into her apartment and deadbolts her door after her. Her bag drops to the floor as she sighs, then goes to the kitchen and grabs a snack bar.

Her back leans against the counter behind her as she stares into the reflection of the tiles on the kitchen walls. And when someone appears behind her, she gasps and drops her snack bar, turning around.

Blonde hair. Red eyes. That stupid grin.

“Himiko?”

-

After Himiko died in the war, Ochaco has lost herself. She's hooked up with men to try and find some meaning in life, but that's difficult when you're lesbian and not over your highschool girlfriend. But when she's proposed to by the man she slept with, and Himiko shows up again, is this all a dream, or is it reality?

OR

Himiko is actually alive and Ochaco needs dire help

wc: 2876

himichako/ togachako oneshot, originally posted on ao3 @megansabode

((i use ��ochaco’ instead of ‘ochako’ when i write her name, it’s just how i write it lmao))

contains: swearing, car chase, lesbian ochaco, toga isn’t actually dead, kissing with tongue, bkdk, aged up pro heroes

Since Himiko died on the battlefield, Ochaco has lost herself. She’s scared to even look in the mirror because she knows she’ll see her ex-girlfriend behind her, mocking her for changing herself.

Ochaco is a slut.

She knows it. Everyone says it. Well, not everyone. Some people choose nicer words. But she is a slut. That’s what she calls it. She finds no reason to sugarcoat it.

She hooks up with men and feels nothing. Nothing at all. All of her classmates are fine. They have relationships, or friendships to fall back on. Even Mina, who’s cupioromantic, has decided to raise a kid with Kirishima as friends.

And Ochaco’s stuck mourning over a girl who died years ago.

“Hey.” The man next to her grins. “You alright?” Ochaco nods, pulling the robe further over her body. “Mm. That was good, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah.” It wasn’t. Ochaco thinks it was probably one of the worst nights she’s ever had.

“Mhm. You wanna know what I would do after this?” Ochaco doesn’t move her head or speak. “I would make you my wife and we’d do this every night. And then we’d have a bunch of kids running around and you’d just stay home while I get the money.” Ochaco feels like killing herself.

“Wow.” She says in a dull tone.

“Mhm. So.” The man moves in front of her and gets on one knee, pulling out a ring. “Will you marry me?”

What the fuck.

Ochaco just stares at him, a chill going down her spine. Half of her wants to be special, to settle for what. But the other half of her doesn’t want to be an object used for sex, tied to a bed to create children for the rest of her life.

“Uh, I’ll think about it.” She says. He grins and nods, handing her the ring. She’s tempted to throw it into the bin.

“Make the right choice, darling.” Oh, now she’s really going to jump off the fucking roof. She grabs her clothes and walks into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her.

She pulls her clothes on, and her phone rings. She picks it up. “Mhm?”

“So, what fuckward did you hook up with this time?” Katsuki asks. She groans. “How bad?”

“Terrible.” She says. “Oh, it was just horrible. Sometimes I feel bad that you’re gay.”

Katsuki laughs. “Yeah, but I’m dating someone.”

“Ha-ha.” Ochaco pauses, remembering the ring. “Oh, shit, Katsuki.”

“What?”

“He fucking proposed to me.” Instead of being horrified after hearing that, Katsuki just bursts out laughing. “What?”

“He gave you terrible sex and proposed to you after? What kind of fucking dick did you find, Ochaco?” He asks, still laughing. “Holy shit, get out of there.”

“I’m getting out.” She says. “He said he’ll make me his wife and use me as a sex slave, too.”

Katsuki stopped laughing. “He said what?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to live in mine and Izuku’s spare room?” He asks.

“Mm. I’m sure. I’m just…gonna go home.”

“Alright. Stay safe.” Katsuki tells her.

She nods. “Yeah. Tell Izuku I said hi.” Katsuki hums in approval and hangs up.

Ochaco pulls the rest of her clothes on and leaves while the man’s in the shower. She doesn’t even bother to leave a note—she doesn’t want to. She doesn’t want to see him ever again.

Her apartment isn’t too far away—which she probably needs to change. That man doesn’t seem like the type to just leave her alone after proposing to her.

Does he think that it isn’t just one night? Because that’s what she does—one night. Only one.

Not becoming a wife and giving a man children for the rest of her life.

She gets into her apartment and deadbolts her door after her. Her bag drops to the floor as she sighs, then goes to the kitchen and grabs a snack bar.

Her back leans against the counter behind her as she stares into the reflection of the tiles on the kitchen walls. And when someone appears behind her, she gasps and drops her snack bar, turning around.

Blonde hair. Red eyes. That stupid grin.

“Himiko?”

Himiko smiles, her head tilting to the side. “Hey, Ochaco. Is this your new apartment? Much better than the old one.” Ochaco stares at Himiko as she walks closer. “Looks more expensive, too.”

Is she dreaming? She has to be.

“A-are you real?” Ochaco asks, her voice breaking. Himiko just laughs, and Ochaco feels a part of her heart mend itself.

“Of course I’m real, silly!” Ochaco reaches out her hand, and touches Himiko.

“W-what? But—but you’re dead! You died in my arms!” Himiko purses her lips.

“They—they got me back alive. At the Hospital. They threatened to send me to Tartarus, but then I made a deal…”

“What deal?” Ochaco asks. Himiko stays silent and Ochaco grabs her shoulders. “What deal, Himiko?”

“I—I go into hiding. And they don’t care about me. And I’ve…I’ve been stalking you, too. Not like, entirely, I don’t watch you…do anything. But I’ve missed you.”

“Why—why didn’t you ever tell me? You could’ve come to me, I would’ve kept you safe, Himiko.” She says, her hands going up to cup Himiko’s face. “I–I love you-”

“Someone who loves me wouldn’t go and hook up with a hundred men after I’m dead.” Ochaco’s breath hitches in her throat, and Himiko moves back. “How about you accept that proposal, huh? You could’ve chucked that ring in your pocket in the trash–why didn’t you?”

“I will!” Ochaco shouts. “I-I will, I promise, I-”

“No, you won’t. Because you want to feel special. And I’m not going to make you feel special because I’m a villain.” She bites the last word out, and Ochaco gasps. “I told you this would happen.”

I told you so.

Ochaco shakes her head. “No, I don’t–I’ve never cared that you’re a villain. Never.”

“So why are you sleeping around?”

“Because you died!” Ochaco screams. “You died and you left me and I fucking broke down! You died and I died with you! And, I can’t—I can’t even let myself think about you because I knew you would hate me, and look where that got me!” She yells, her voice raspy from shouting. “I—I can’t do this!”

Himiko stares at her as Ochaco grabs the ring and twists it, then throws it in the bin. “There. There—there, it’s gone.”

She doesn’t even realise she’s crying until Himiko hugs her, the soft and safe arms making her cry even more. “Ochaco-“

“I don’t even know who I am anymore, Himiko. I’m—I’m scared. I’m scared of myself, I don’t know why I’m doing this.”

“Ochaco-“

“Himiko, I don’t want to do this-“

Himiko grabs Ochaco’s face, her thumbs against the girl’s cheeks. “Ochaco. It’s fine.”

“But you said earlier-“

“Forget what I said. It doesn’t mean I don’t love you. Yeah, this is confusing. I’m confusing, you’re confusing, we’re confusing. But I fucking love you and I have ever since the first day I saw you and thought you’d look better covered in blood.” Ochaco laughs. “But now, I don’t care whether you’re covered in blood or not. I just love you.”

Ochaco stares at Himiko, then says those four words that many could find difficult to say, and four words that Ochaco could never say to anyone else. “I love you too.” She pauses. “Himiko.”

“I love the way you say my name.” Ochaco laughs. “And I love you.”

They lock eyes, and the unspoken words of everything they’ve wanted to say are spoken, silently. Ochaco stares at Himiko’s red eyes as Himiko stares at Ochaco’s brown eyes, and soon they stare into each other’s eyes.

And then they lean in.

And then they kiss. And Himiko’s hands go to Ochaco’s waist and Ochaco’s arms wrap around Himiko’s neck. Ochaco leans back as Himiko’s hands move to Ochaco’s lower back, holding her as she deepens the kiss.

Ochaco gasps as she feels Himiko’s tongue against her lips, and she parts them, letting out a small noise as Himiko’s tongue presses against hers.

This is different. This is different from the hook-ups, from the horrific sex Ochaco has put herself through with hundreds of men.

Because this is Himiko. This is Ochaco’s (kind of) ex girlfriend, this is the girl Ochaco kissed in the comfort of closets, this is the girl that everyone guessed after the war that Ochaco hated.

Ochaco has never loved Himiko more. And Ochaco has never hated Himiko.

They pull away quickly at a loud bang on the door. “Oh, no.” Ochaco whispers.

“Is that—oh, shit.” Himiko gets up. “Stay here.” Ochaco nods, moving back into her apartment, and she moves into the kitchen, her back flush against the wall.

The man who proposed to her is at her door. She just knows it—she knows he’s here. He’s probably been stalking her.

The door opens. “Hey!” Himiko says, leaning against the door. Oh, fuck. Himiko had opened the door.

Himiko’s supposed to be dead.

“T-Toga?” The man gasps, and Ochaco hears a foot move. “The villain? Where—where’s Uraraka Ochaco?”

Oh. Wait.

“Oh, I’m afraid she’s not around anymore.” The man gasps and Ochaco hears movement down the steps. The door closes and Himiko soon comes into view.

“I’m afraid the police may be here in the next four minutes, tops.” She says.

Ochaco sighs. “Fuck’s sake.” She grabs Himiko’s hand and gets her keys and phone, then goes to her room and grabs her hero costume, then goes back to the door.

“You’re not going to take anything else?”

“I don’t have anything else.”

“Oh.” They go down the stairs and get to Ochaco’s car. Ochaco gets in the driver’s seat and Himiko gets in the passenger seat. “Never thought I’d be a passenger princess.” Ochaco rolls her eyes and connects her phone to the car.

She presses, ‘Call’ and taps on Katsuki’s name. He immediately picks up. “The hell do you want? I’m busy here-“

“Hey, Bakugo!” Himiko shouts.

Fuck.

Katsuki pauses, then yells. “What the fuck?” Ochaco hears Izuku mumble in the background. “Toga?”

“Toga?” Izuku mumbles. Ochaco groans as she starts up the car and starts driving out of the car park.

“There she is!” The man yells. Ochaco checks the rearview mirror. The police have just pulled up.

“Shit. Himiko, hold on.” Himiko nods and Ochaco pushes the car into sport mode, then speeds down the long road outside her apartment complex. “Katsuki, I may be bringing the police to your house.”

“You may be what?” Katsuki yells into the receiver.

“What’s happening?” Izuku asks.

Ochaco sighs. “Do you remember when I said that guy proposed to me?”

Now it’s Izuku’s turn to yell. “When that guy what?”

“Long story.” Katsuki, Ochaco and Himiko say at the same time. Izuku just groans.

“Yeah?” Katsuki says. “Wait-“

“He stalked Ochaco and I went to the door and…insinuated I killed Ochaco. So now the police are after us and—holy shit, Ochaco! Ochaco turns around a corner, pulling the steering wheel completely to the side. “Do you want us to be roadkill or something?”

“Shut up and let me drive.” She pulls on the handbrake and they speed down the road, the police sirens getting louder.

“Are those sirens?” Katsuki yells.

“Katsuki, considering you used to be top of our class, I would think your comprehension skills would be better!” Ochaco shouts, the speed pulling her body back as she overtakes a car.

She just hears Katsuki groan. “Well, yeah, but you’re in a fucking car chase.”

“She’s in a what?” Izuku asks in a tired tone.

“Go to sleep, Izuku.”

“But I-“

“Go to sleep.” Izuku goes silent and Katsuki sighs again. “What’s your speed?”

“110.” Ochaco says, pulling around a corner again. “70. 120.”

“I’m sorry?” Katsuki yells, and Ochaco swears Izuku says something. “Sleep.”

“But you woke me up.” Izuku says.

“I really don’t care about your sappy shit right now, because Ochaco’s about to fucking kill us!” Himiko yells, holding onto the sides of her seat. “Fucking hell!”

“Ever heard of road rage, Himiko?”

“I joined the LOV at the age of 16, no, I don’t know what road rage is, Ochaco! Unless you mean chasing down a huge truck to steal quirk-cancelling bullets from Overhaul, but I wasn’t even really there for that!” Himiko shouts.

“Oh, fuck.” Katsuki sighs, and Ochaco can almost see him rubbing his temples. “When’re you gonna be here?”

Ochaco checks her side mirror. “Himiko, get in the back. Lay low.”

“While you’re going five times the speed limit? No!”

“Oh, that’s an exaggeration.”

“It’s what it feels like!” Himiko yells. “Oh, fuck, we’re dead.” Himiko climbs through the gaps between the front two chairs, sliding under them.

“Alright, Katsuki. See you soon.”

“Ochaco, you can’t be seriously-“ She hangs up before he can yell at her even more. Ochaco slows down and pulls over, then grabs her hero costume and presses a button, pulling it on quickly. Then, she gets out of the car.

“You are—Uravity?” The policeman closest to her shouts. “Wh—but-“

“Are you serious?” Ochaco yells. “I was about to capture a villain and now you’re chasing me down?”

“Wh—what villain?” The policeman asks.

“That one.” Ochaco points at the man who proposed to her just earlier.

His eyes widen. “What? No—no, Im not a villain-“

“On what charge?” The policeman asks Ochaco. “Uravity, you must have a reason-“

“Breaking and entering. And stalking. Oh, and can lying be added to that list, we all know that Toga Himiko is dead.” The policemen gasp, then one goes to arrest the man.

“What? No, you can’t seriously be doing this, you told me where you live!” Ochaco just crosses her arms, staring at him.

“Take him away.” The policeman says. “Thank you, Uravity. Sorry for the trouble.”

“Don’t let it happen again.” Ochaco says.

She turns and gets back in her car and drives away. She knows that the man won’t be in prison for long without foolproof evidence.

So it’s time to take up Katsuki’s offer.

Himiko pushes herself out from under the seats. “I hated that.”

Ochaco laughs. “I guessed as much. It’s only five minutes to Katsuki’s and Izuku’s, anyway.” Himiko nods, sitting in the back seat.

“What did you say to them?” She asks.

“Not much. They arrested the man for stalking and breaking and entering. Although, I don’t think that we should go back now that he knows where I live.”

“So…?”

“Katsuki’s and Izuku’s. I’m sure they won’t mind another person staying around.” Himiko sighs, but nods, and Ochaco drives on.

“We’re here!” Ochaco chucks her spare key on the kitchen table as Himiko looks around. Katsuki and Izuku are the top paid heroes in Japan, so they both have a house, instead of an apartment like the other heroes from Class 1-A.

“Holy shit…” Himiko mutters.

“What’re you gawking at?” Katsuki asks as he walks down the stairs. “It’s a house.”

“Mm. It’s a house with a villain who’s never had a proper family in it.” Himiko comments. Katsuki rolls his eyes and crossed his arms, leaning against the wall behind him.

Ochaco sighs. “Got the guy arrested. But I don’t think he’ll be there for long.”

“You can stay here-“

She cuts Katsuki off. “Why do you think I’m here?” He sighs. “I’m getting my shit together.”

“Finally.” Izuku says, in the middle of the stairs. Ochaco rolls her eyes and he smiles. “I was waiting for the day you stopped wasting away and never staying at your apartment.”

“Hm. Me too.” Himiko says.

Ochaco scoffs. “Is this slut-shaming?”

“Yes.” All three say at the same time.

“And if it’s on record, all the men you got with were fucking shit. I didn’t even need to meet them to know that.” Katsuki says.

“Wow. Great. Thanks for that.” Ochaco says, sighing. “So…can me and Himiko take the spare room?”

Katsuki nods. “Yeah, just don’t be too loud.”

“Homophobia.” Himiko comments.

“Shut up.”

“Yeah, yeah, get on with your gay shit.” Himiko says, grabbing Ochaco’s arm and pulling her towards the stairs.

“Touché!” Katsuki yells as Himiko puts up her middle finger and goes up the stairs. Once they’re up, Ochaco shows Himiko where the room is and they sit down on the bed.

“I like this place. Very nice.”

“Mhm.” Ochaco stares at her hand wrapped around Himiko’s.

Himiko grabs her chin gently, then turns her face to hers. “What’s wrong?”

“For some reason, I feel like I’m dreaming.” Ochaco says. “And I really don’t want to be dreaming.”

“...Of course you’re not dreaming, silly. But, are you tired?” Ochaco nods slowly. “Alright. Wanna go to bed?”

“Yeah. Yeah, that’d be nice.” Himiko smiles and Ochaco lays on her side, Himiko’s arms wrapping around her waist from behind. “Goodnight, Himiko.”

“Goodnight, Ochaco.”

And when Ochaco wakes up in the morning, she’s in the man’s bed again.

Maybe she should check herself into a mental hospital the next time she dreams that Himiko’s still alive again.

[fatgumsurpremacy-remastered]

Have you watched Emesis Blue? What did you think of it?

(I LOVED IT)

I have! I’ve also written some stuff about it!

Cw: spoilers, obvious dark subject matter

Okay, I wanna talk about the beginning and how well they portrayed true relationship between Jeremy and Fritz. It’s clear they’ve got a mutual trust in one another and it hurts all the more when Fritz finds him dead. I’m still 100% devastated by the ugly ass smile Medic gives in the respawn. That hurts me so bad man. The way they portray Fritz’s mental state decaying is chilling but it sheds him in a light that this was bred from necessity. He clearly cares about Jeremy, there would be no reason for him to go to the slaughterhouse otherwise. And while plagued with these visions he doesn’t want to worry Jeremy with trivial detail.

The setup of all of it was amazing and the amount of Kubrick references absolutely had be absorbed. It’s nice to feel a story flesh out certain properties to something entirely it’s own. The looping sequences sent chills down my spine but my favorite mindfuck were the conaghers.

Zed has to be one of my favorite renditions of Engie because of how they portray him as an active threat rather than passive danger. While he appears cool and sadistic, that coolness is out the window the second he gets a chance to play with someone he deems a threat (ie) Fritz. The moment he said “I’da got you.” and starts giggling showed me just how fucked up he was if he wasn’t already. He’s got a childish ass outlook on this, and him stuck inside a place like Teufort is absolutely NOT GOOD. (Love Teufort but it’s the shittiest map. Also my favorite though.)

Maynards design had me frothing at the mouth, I’m just gonna say that straight up. He didn’t even do nothin outwardly he just kind of went along, which- yeah I guess let your creepy younger brother tourture that poor twink. He really does give off the vibe of a man disconnected, Medics whole bit about strangling him was out of left field but necessity. That scene in particular made me feral.

It showed us what I imagine to be an anomaly in the loop correcting itself, but therefore making the entity more aggressive, the entity in question Fritz. That whole scenes cinematography is brilliant.

Now I get on to my absolute favorite character ever.

Fucking soldier.

Never thought that someone could do such a damn good job emulating Rick may but FUCK did they. The lower, and more stark tone to the character made his wacky lines way funnier: it shows someone who seems incompetent being truly skilled at what they do. Surviving. While his methods are ridiculous it’s his leaps of faith that save him.

With bat out of fucking hell sniper he showed that he doesn’t like to give mercy. He shows a side that would make him antagonistic. But throughout the whole film he shows nothing aside from compassion, even towards the people he barley knows. That elevator scene says it all to me. He has reason to be suspicious but through that he chooses to be kind. It sunk my heart seeing the warfeild scene, it was quiet in a way. It was bleak and chaotic but he seemed perfectly fine to be there for just a moment.

Jane lost… a lot. In this film. He lost his coworker to the pits of an evil fucking loop. He lost a friend in Demo when Demo froze. (That scene broke me btw.) He lost dignity and connection and hope. And afterwards he looked so… dead? He won.

He escaped but what was the cost in the end? The loop continued on. His blank stare shared with medic and the attempt to blow him and the venue itself up over spies inaccurate details really shows his need for the truth. This film helped me out a lot with characterizing Solly in the future he’s honestly a darling.

On the topic of the loop and the way they constructed it holy shit. Those beginning shots were so so affective at building the atmosphere. I thought it’d be found footage till the end but NO, it just set up the mood and shit RAGGH

[moeswriting]

mine | 3. we'll never make my parents mistakes

pairing: young!no-outbreak!joel miller x f!reader

chapter summary: you and joel are finding things out about each other’s pasts and figuring out how to deal with your presents,

or meeting sarah miller and the after effects

warnings: THIS CHAPTER EXPLORES SOME VERY DARK THINGS BUT IS ALSO VERY SOFT, READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION AND PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS; discussion of maternal suicide/postpartum depression, alcoholism, and parental neglect (reader); joel is 22 and reader is 20; reader is described a small amount (has hair, able-bodied, wears feminine clothing, is going to school for secondary english education, has a heavily-detailed background); joel being The Single Dad™; character joins the army, conversation about a dead father and general daddy issues for the Miller brothers, including military PTSD and fraternal death from lung cancer; tommy being a little shit; HEY THESE TWO IDIOTS HAVE SEX!!! (not explicit)

word count: 11.5k

a/n: happy late birthday to my favorite fictional boy, have some trauma <3 this has been a long time coming (u see what i did there? ;) ). to all who have been begging me for the next chapter in my inbox, this is for you <3 . again, just wanna say: please read the warnings on this chapter. i am not usually a “traumatize my characters” kind of writer, but i was feeling feral while writing this over the past few weeks and it kind of just happened… so be warned. (i’m sorry in advance)

series masterlist | last chapter -> | next chapter ->

read this chapter on ao3

Flash forward, and we're takin' on the world together

And there's a drawer of my things at your place

You learn my secrets and you figure out why I'm guarded

You say we'll never make my parents' mistakes

✦ ✦ ✦

November 1994

It’s a couple days later. A Tuesday. Arguably the worst day of the week and a day that he’s been dreading since the text had graced his flip phone that night.

“... we need to talk”??

It sent shivers down his spine, made him want to run and hide, and never leave his apartment again. Talking wasn’t really Joel’s strong suit– sure, he could sweet talk Mrs. Nelson into giving him a better tip, but talking about how he felt? God, it was like dragging his toddler around a store when she wanted to go home– frustrating and near-impossible.

You’d texted him afterwards, making plans to meet at the diner when his shift was almost over to talk. But the past two days had been an absolute blur.

Sarah had noticed her dad’s change in demeanor and had decided to follow him into it, nonstop crying and small fists banging on the floor and his chest and anything she could take her anger out on. It made sleeping borderline impossible. He has had to sit in her small bed with her laying on his chest until she wore herself out the past two nights.

But here he is, at his usual Tuesday shift just after the lunch crowd has dispersed and he’s hiding in the kitchen while Don gives him a lecture about something that he’s honestly not listening to. He does, however, catch the sound of the bell ringing as someone walks into the diner and then he hears your cheery voice as you speak to someone.

“Go out there, there’s a customer,” Don says as he cleans the grill.

“I–” He cuts himself off. He doesn’t want Don to know about what’s about to happen.

The burly man looks up at him, nearly a foot shorter than him and he still scares the crap out of him sometimes, “It’s your girl, isn’t it?”

Joel clears his throat and sighs, “Yeah.”

“You two been fighting?”

He shakes his head.

Don slices his hand through the air as if to push Joel’s gesture aside. “Bullshit. I can tell.”

“Wha–”

“You been actin’ different. I’ve known you almost four years, Miller. I could tell when you started datin’ her and I could tell yesterday when you came into work that something was wrong.”

Damn Don and his out-of-character perceptiveness.

“Go face her, Miller.” He nods once, a finality to it.

“I-”

“Get out of my kitchen, you coward!”

He pushes him out of the swinging doors and into the dining area. When he sees you, he freezes.

✦ ✦ ✦

You arrive at the diner at three and sit in your usual spot by the window that no one else likes but you. It’s bright. You think maybe that’s why no one likes it, but you adore the way the reflected light warms you down to your toes. It’s quiet– weirdly quiet, like even the building itself is getting ready in anticipation for whatever is about to happen. The only other patron is Mr. Cassini sitting in a corner with a cup of coffee cradled in his trembling hands. You wonder where Doreen is.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Cassini,” you yell across the diner.

His face lights up, like it always does when he sees you, “Hello, dear! How are you doin’?”

“Oh, I’m doing as good as I can. How about you?”

“Oh darlin’, I’m doing amazing. Best I’ve felt in years.”

You smile at him, “That’s amazing, Mr. Cassini.”

“Oh, look at me talkin’ you up when you probably have work to do. I’ll let you get to your studying.”

You huff, “Thanks, Mr. Cassini.”

You can hear clattering coming from the kitchen. You suppose that’s where Joel is, or where he’s hiding. You’d tried to get a grasp on how Joel was feeling about all of this when you had been texting him to make the plans to meet here after his shift. Text messages aren’t very good at communicating emotion, but you couldn’t get yourself to call him– face him.

“Get out of my kitchen, you coward,” you hear Don yell in his obnoxiously loud way, a deep chortle following Joel as he exits the swinging doors.

He freezes like a statue, eyes wide and brows raised. Tired is the word that comes to mind– he so obviously hasn’t slept right in days. Bags under his eyes, shoulders slouched, skin paler than his usual tan glow. Maybe he’d seen a ghost.

He looks at you with his evaluating stare. You always wonder what Joel sees when he does this. Does he know how terrified you are?

Turning around, he points a finger towards the counter and grabs a clean glass from the cabinet behind him. You sigh, sling your backpack over your shoulder, and get up to go sit where Joel directed you to. He likes it when you’re closer to him while you visit him at work, especially if it’s slow and he’s bored, but when you need to study or do homework, you sit at the booth by the window– less distractions, you tell him. Really, you just know you won’t get any work done if you have easy access to him and you like the noise of the diner while you’re studying.

He doesn’t turn back towards you until you’re already settled in the tall stool, backpack precariously balanced on the seat next to you. Sliding the glass across the counter towards you, now full of iced tea exactly how you like it, he sighs.

“Hey, sugar.”

His nervousness surrounds him– hand pulling through his sweaty, messy hair, lidded eyes darting around the diner in an effort to find something to distract himself with, teeth worrying his bleeding lower lip between them. 

“Hey,” you breathe out. In a way, his nerves comfort you– you’re not the only one.

“I got another few minutes before Don will let me out.”

“I know, Joel,” you mutter.

“Gotta wait for Dorreen to come back from her smoke break too.”

“Okay,” you whisper.

He leans on the counter, facing you, “I’m nervous.”

You give him a soft smile, “Me too.”

“Good. Good.” He nods to himself, pushing a straw towards you from the apron around his waist.

“Miller! I need more coffee,” Mr. Cassini’s gravely voice echoes through the empty diner, making Joel jump up from his position on the counter.

“One second, Mr. Cassini–” he holds up a finger directed at you– “I’ll be right back. Gotta do a couple things before I leave.”

You know. You nod.

You pull a book out of your bag, The Secret Garden, desperate to avoid the awkwardness of the quiet. You absorb yourself in the story of Mary as she explores the hidden garden her new caretaker’s late wife once walked, dead and gray. It’s the millionth time you’ve read it– page corners bent and the spine cracked in multiple places. The pages are a dark yellow, almost matching the deep color of the faded cover. On the front page, the name Virginia swirls in a beautiful cursive right above your own name in your not-so-delicate print. The ink of her fountain pen is a deeper black than the one of your ball-point, faded by the twelve years it had sat on the page.

A hand pops into your field of vision and taps on the page of your book, “Ready to go.”

You hum and stash the book into your bag, between your hardback textbooks so it gets better protection from the mess that is your bookbag.

You watch Joel pull his apron off and stuff it under the counter, exposing the parts of his jeans that have gone untouched by the mess of his shift. The square outline around his crotch almost makes you giggle, but you bite your lip to suppress it.

He comes around the counter and, without looking in your direction, pushes open the front door. Following behind him like a puppy, you quickly do the same, throwing your backpack over your shoulder.

He stops suddenly, turning around, looking for guidance.

You sigh, “Let me walk you home.”

“No–”

“What direction is it?”

He looks you up and down, a habit you guess he learned from trying to determine if he needed to make Tommy back down from a fight or not. His hesitation is so blatant, bringing his hand up once, twice, before he points in the opposite direction from the route he takes to walk you back to your dorm. Of course, he was going out of his way to bring you home. That is the most Joel thing you could think of.

“Let’s go.”

You start to walk, determined steps taking you down the street. You turn to look at Joel over your shoulder and he hasn’t moved an inch. Your footsteps falter.

“Really?”

He huffs out a breath, “I– I just–”

You shrug your arms up, exasperated, and slap them back against your sides, “What, Joel?”

“I don’t… I’m not ready to do this yet.”

What?

You furrow your brows and squint in his direction through the waning sunlight.

“What in the world are you talking about?”

He runs a hand through his curly, sweaty hair, sucks in a large breath, and slurs his words together in one long exhale, “I’m not ready for you to meet her yet.”

Oh. Oh.

“Joel, that’s not– that’s not what I was trying to do. I just wanted to walk you home.”

Now that he’s admitted his secret to you, that other part of him no longer hidden, everything about him is so obviously catered to a four-year-old. His expressions are controlled, but also so kind and open, like he’s keeping his real feelings at bay but wants to make sure you know that you can tell him anything and he’ll listen. His shoulders are hunched over from hard work, but he never falters, he always shows up for you, for Sarah. He’s nervous in everything he does, whether he shows it or not, but he would do anything to make sure his friends and family get whatever they need. He’d fight a bull for you if you asked him to. He’d tear the earth in two for his baby, you can tell.

This is the same Joel you’ve come to like. He hasn’t changed into a whole new person just because you learned he’s a father. He was a father the whole time you’ve known him, which is weird to think about. What else didn’t you know about him?

You continue, dragging your feet back to him, “I would never, ever try to force you into anything– especially when it comes to your daughter. I have no right to demand anything.”

“I do want you to meet ‘er.”

“I want to meet her too.”

“Someday. I jus’… not now. I need to make sure we– I wanna make sure we’ll last before I introduce someone else into her life.”

“And I agree with you.”

“Good.”

“Yup.” You kick a rock in front of you.

You both stare at each other, waiting to see who will break the silence first. 

Joel tilts his head in the direction he had originally pointed in, “Can we go somewhere to talk?”

You nod. 

The two of you walk in silence to a park down the road. You wonder if his apartment is near.

There are a few benches scattered around the park, surrounded by flowers and shrubs alike. A playground is busy with children as they scream and chase after each other with smiles on their faces.

He flops down on a bench facing a water fountain, far enough from the kids that you’re pretty sure they won’t hear you.

You sigh, pressing your palms into your eyes as you join him, small flakes of wood on the old bench press into the backs of your thighs.

“I’m upset that you didn’t tell me right away– I just want you to know that.”

“I know. I��m sorry.”

Apologizing is good. An explanation would be better.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

He crosses his arms, staring out at the glaring sun, “‘Cause I didn’ want you to run.”

You scoff and scuff the concrete beneath you with your sneaker in emphasis, “What makes you think I would’ve run?”

His eyes dart over to you. He gives you a look that screams, “Are you seriously asking me that?” Eyebrows furrowed and nose scrunched.

“‘Could tell you were nervous when I first met ya. And I knew you were young and in college and most college-aged girls aren’t interested in gettin’ in a relationship with a dad.”

“Oh, I know for a fact that that is not true,” you huff, mirroring his position– slouched, arms crossed. You knew plenty of women your age who would love the stability and the experience– knew Elaine had had a few chance encounters with DILFs she had met at the bar. She claimed it was some of the best sex she’d ever had.

He scoffs, “Whatever, you know what I mean.”

You roll your eyes, “Yeah, I do.”

Rubbing his hands together, he continues.

“I wasn’t tryin’ to keep her from you forever. I was always going to tell you.”

You flatten your lips into a line. “Yeah, well, it would’ve been nice to know from the get-go.”

He’s looking you in the eye again with a genuinity and softness and places a hand on your thigh. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I’ll stop apologizing for that for a long time. I just– it seemed like the right thing to do at the time.”

You sigh, placing your hand on top of his, a smirk starting to take over your lips, “I’m not going to say it’s okay, but I might be willing to forgive you.”

His eyebrows quirk up, “Might be?”

You fix your posture, now sitting taller than him, and look down into his pretty eyes, “You take me out again and I might be willing to look past this indiscretion.”

He opens his mouth to speak again, but you interrupt before he gets the chance, pointing a defiant finger in his face– “But–! You have to promise me you won’t keep shit from me anymore. We gotta lay it all on the table. I’m not going to do this with you unless you’re honest with me.”

He nods, “I think I can do that– both of those.”

You nod, “Good, I’m glad we’re on the same page.”

He fixes his slouch so that he’s level with you again, his hand never leaving the comfort of your own.

“But, y’know that means you have to be honest with me too.”

You furrow your eyebrows.

Turning his hand so your palms face each other, he laces your fingers together and squeezes. “I know you’re hiding stuff from me too. Big stuff.”

You hum. 

“Why won’t you talk about your family?”

Well, shit.

You sigh, squeezing your eyes shut, “Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh’... but we don’t have to do this right now.” His eyes are wide with fear, scared he might have pushed you too hard. Maybe he has. But, it’s weird, for the first time in your entire life, you want to share things about your past.

“No, it’s okay. Might as well,” you reply, taking your hand out of his and rubbing your eyes aggressively with your palms.

Without looking up at him, you start, “I– I don’t really have much family. It’s just pretty much been me and my dad since I can remember.”

“You said your dad lives back in Seattle, right?”

“Yeah. He uh– he isn’t my favorite person. That’s why– that’s why I don’t talk about him.”

He doesn’t say anything, giving you time to think about what you’re going to say next.

“My mom died a couple weeks after she gave birth to me. She– she, uh–”

It’s hard to spit it out. To talk about it. Only a few people knew about what really happened– the rest all just knew she was dead. But you know that Joel should know– know why this is so hard for you.

“She had postpartum depression really, really bad. Couldn’t get out of bed, couldn’t shower, couldn’t eat, couldn’t feed me or hold me or look at me– Dad says she was like a statue, like a ghost of herself.”

You can’t get yourself to look at him– can feel the guilt running down your spine and into your bone marrow like it always does when you think of her. You hide your face behind your hands, elbows leaning on your legs.

“She had been so excited. They both were. Just out of college and newlyweds– dad says her pregnancy was the best year of their relationship.”

You gear yourself up for what you’re about to say. You’ve only ever told one person about this before: Elaine, and that was after a year of friendship. You’ve only known Joel for a little over a month. But, you want to tell him– need to tell him.

“But she– she killed herself. Didn’t leave a note or anything, she was just… gone.”

You can’t see his face, don’t want to. You’ve seen enough sympathetic eyes to last a lifetime of grief. “Oh, sugar…”

You shake your head in your hands– you’re not done yet. “Dad was pretty much gone after that. I never remember a time when he was ‘there’, but my grandmother said he used to be different– ‘more alive’.

“I knew he blamed me before he ever said it. He’d drop me off at my grandmother’s house and disappear for days and when she died and that wasn’t an option anymore, he would just leave me at the house with a ten dollar bill for food for a couple days at a time.”

He scoffs, like  your father could hear his anger from here. “That’s not fair–”

You cut him off, you don’t want to hear one more person say your life isn’t fair, “And when he was home, he was angry all the time. He has his good days, but he– he’s not my favorite person.

“So, that’s why I was scared when you told me about Sarah,” you continue, “Because I– I don’t exactly have a good track record with the whole ‘family’ thing. And I don’t… I don’t really know anything about being a… maternal figure.”

You can’t say “mom”. Can’t think it.

It takes a moment of stunned silence for Joel to reply, but when he does, he lays a hand on your shoulder, “Baby, I… I wasn’t askin’ for you to jump into being a mother. I wasn’t… I wasn’t even asking you to be a mother at all. I just wanted you to know my priorities, because if this relationship is gonna continue, you have to have a relationship with my daughter.”

“I know.”

“But, I understand now. Thank you for tellin’ me about your mom.”

You sigh, closing your eyes and leaning your head back on the bench, “Thank you for listening and being patient with me.”

You can feel him looking at you, hear the smile in his words. “I’d wait forever for you, sugar.”

Your cheeks heat up, eyes wide open, and turn to him. The look in his irises tells you that he’s being completely genuine.

“Anyways, I gotta go. I’m not tryin’ to get away from you or this conversation, but my momma has to get home.”

You nod your acknowledgement, standing up. He holds a hand out for you to take and you pull him up from the bench, but you don’t let go– you guide him towards the exit of the park and then he takes the reins from there, leading you in the direction of his apartment.

“Your mom watch her when you’re at work?”

“Yeah, Tommy does too sometimes when he’s not gettin’ his ass beat in alleyways after school,” he rolls his eyes. 

You huff out a breath of amusement, “Well, that’s very kind of them.”

You squeeze his hand. It’s calloused from hard work and dry from the hot Texas weather. His larger fingers engulf yours.

“Tell me about her.”

He starts to shake his head, “Oh, we don’t–”

“No, no, I want to know about her.”

He’ll always take an opportunity to brag about his baby girl.

In the few minutes walk, he tells you about Sarah. How she turns five in July. How she smiles with her teeth, showing off her two front teeth that they just pulled. How he very unsuccessfully pulled a Tooth Fairy heist, which resulted in him having to admit to his daughter that the Tooth Fairy wasn’t real. How she looks just like her mom, but is just so beautifully unique in her own way. How her hair never cooperates with him, so he has to take her to the salon down the street so they can braid her hair. How she likes pink the most and requests the same pink butterfly hair clips every morning despite the large collection of hair accessories she’s amassed. How he loves her with everything in him.

You arrive at your destination, or at least you think so, as you approach a small bakery and Joel takes out his key.

“I rent the apartment above the bakery from the owner. She has a house with kids and a husband so she doesn’t need to stay here, and she’s an old family friend, so she lets Sarah and I stay up here for fairly cheap.”

You smile, “That’s very kind.”

“Yes, but she loves to come visit way more than she’s actually welcomed. She likes Sarah a lot, I mean, most people do because she’s a great kid, but y’know…”

He suddenly perks up, holding his hands up in a “stop” motion.

“Wait– stay here.”

You watch him run up the stairs two at a time, before the door closes behind him. You stay in your spot.

He comes back down the stairs with his seashell in his hand– the gray one with the brown stripes, the one he had so proudly presented to you two days ago on the beach. The one he told you was simple, didn’t need to be flashy to get the job done. The one that was so obviously him that it hurt to think about the last couple of days of avoiding him, of the time wasted.

You cradle it in your palms and look up at him through your eyelashes.

“I’m sorry,” you mutter.

“For what, sugar?”

“For making you think I didn’t want you.”

He sighs, grabbing your wrists and pulling you into his chest, wrapping his arms around your shoulders.

“Don’t be sorry– wasn’t your fault. I got lots of things to work on, and so do you. We jus’ need to communicate better, like you said.”

You nuzzle your head into his chest. He smells like leather and freshly-cut wood.

He feels like home.

“Yeah, we do.”

✦ ✦ ✦

December 1994

It’s the middle of December when your 21st birthday rolls around.

Elaine throws a party in the basement of your dorm building, approved by your RA as a “floor event” for the end of the semester (which in a way isn’t a lie because most of your dorm floor is there anyways) the day before your birthday. You had convinced Joel to come too, all of your friends swooning over him and winking at you when you introduced them to him. He’s blushing the entire night.

But on your actual birthday, Joel takes you to his apartment for the first time, dropping Sarah off at his mom’s house for the night.

When you first walked in, you think that even if you hadn’t known this was Joel’s apartment, that you could’ve easily picked it out in a lineup. The ceilings are vaulted, popcorn textured walls that are painted an off-white that makes the space look larger than it is, a kitchen off to the right and a bedroom door straight ahead. There’s a painting of horses that Joel has described to you before above the mantle in the living room, it was his dad’s. You can tell he’s cleaned up, because all of the pink toys that he told you were usually scattered all over the floor for him to stub his toe on, which he did constantly, are neatly piled in a basket in the corner of the room. The couch is old, sagging in the middle, but it looks comfortable because of all of the quilts thrown all over the back.

After a dinner of your favorite food, which Joel painstakingly made to perfection, he guides you to the living room couch and hands you a present.

It’s a big cardboard box with a purple bow stuck on top. Before you can even think about opening it, he takes the bow off and puts it on top of your head.

“It’s for your birthday and Christmas ‘cause it’s a pretty expensive gift, and y’know I don’t make a whole lot at the diner, but I think it was worth it.”

You open the box with a smile and what sits waiting for you is a pair of cowboy boots. And they are beautiful.

They’re made of a thick leather that feels smooth beneath your fingers as you pick them up and cradle one of them in your hands. It’s heavy in your grip, sturdy and obviously well-made– stitches tight and leather buffed. The sides are a light purple with white sprigs of lavender stitched into the leather.

“They’re work boots, so they're steel-toed and waterproof. I treated the leather already, but you can bring ‘em to me every couple months and I’ll do it again. Figure that you needed shoes that weren’t your half-destroyed Converse and I love my boots, so I thought, you know, maybe you’d like a pair too,” he chuckles stiffly, carding a hand through his hair.

You’re speechless, to the point that you can’t even point out that he had implied a future two months from now where you’re still dating. There’s about a hundred words you want to say to him, but none of them seem good enough.

Gently placing the boot back in the box and on the floor, you stand up and move in front of Joel and in-between his thighs. He’s looking up at you with wide eyes and you want to devour him whole.

“What’re you doin’, sugar?”

You climb into his lap and smirk down at him, “Lookin’ at ya.”

He grabs the outsides of your thighs and squeezes them, “Oh, really?”

“Yup,” you pop the ‘p’ with a smirk, throwing your arms around his neck. Pushing yourself further into his lap, your nose brushes against his.

If someone asked you what your favorite thing about Joel was, you would tell them that it’s his eyes. Those defined crows feet that kiss the corners of his gorgeous honey-brown irises are enchanting– evidence of a life, so far, well-lived.

You adore him. You–

“I love you.”

He pulls back slightly with wide eyes.

“I– sugar, you don’t have to say it if you’re not ready.”

That’s so like Joel– to think he doesn’t deserve this.

You weave your fingers into the curls that stick to the back of his neck and your smirk turns into a smile, “I’m ready and I love you.”

You nudge his nose with your own and lean in, lips connecting in a simple peck.

“I love you too– so much, sugar,” he whispers, pressing your lips together again.

“Thank you for the boots, Joel. They’re beautiful.”

“I hope it’s okay– gettin’ you one gift. I… you know I’m not exactly the richest person in the world.”

“Oh baby, is that why you’ve been picking up all those extra shifts with Tommy?”

“Yeah,” he draws out bashfully.

You kiss him again, “Miller, it is more than okay for you to give me one gift. In fact, it would’ve been okay if you hadn’t gotten me anything. Just you being here is enough for me.”

“Oh, really?”

He sighs, squeezing your thighs again, pulling you in closer until your chests touch. You can feel him beneath you. Your cheeks heat up.

“Mhm.”

It’s gentle, the way he lays you down on the bed, legs hanging off the edge. He stands between your shaking legs. Your body is buzzing with the electricity of the moment, as he looks down at you with hooded, black eyes– hungry and soft.

He takes his time kissing up your body, starting where your skin is exposed at the top of your pajama pants and making his way up, up, up, in between your heaving, clothed breasts, shirt long gone on the living room floor, and finally up to your lips. He pecks them once and sighs, arms bracketing your head.

He says your name sternly, “Are you sure you want to do this? Because you know, I am very okay with waitin’.”

You look up into those eyes, the ones you fell in love with first, and you know. You know this is what you need.

“Please,” you whine, hips stuttering under his.

He holds your hip down with his large, sturdy hand and speaks softly, “Baby, I need a yes or no.”

“Yes, yes! I’m ready, Joel, please.” 

With all the energy you have left in your buzzing and needy limbs, you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him into a kiss that says all the shit that’s always left unsaid. You’re my other half, I don’t think I can live without you anymore, I am yours, You are mine.

And it’s gentle, because that’s who Joel is. A father, a caregiver, a lover– he is gentle. He takes care of you, loving you down to the tips of your fingers, taking his time to savor the taste of you. It’s not perfect– there’s both of your awkward giggles while Joel pulls the condom on and your hisses as he goes a little too fast– but, to you, it’s perfect in all the ways it matters and you’re seeing stars multiple times before Joel finally finishes with a loud and gorgeous moan.

After Joel wipes you both down with a warm washcloth, you’re laying in his arms, playing with the wispy, brown hair just below his cheekbones and he’s humming in delight like a cat purrs.

“I love you,” he whispers, eyes closed.

“I love you, too,” you whisper back, kissing his chest just above his heart where you wish you could burrow yourself forever. Moving out of this bed is tomorrow’s problem. Today, you can pretend that you’re nestled in his heart chambers as his breaths slow and he falls asleep with his arms wrapped around you in a tight embrace, like even in his sleep he has to keep you close enough to feel your breaths, make sure you’re still next to him.

✦ ✦ ✦

March 1995

It’s not until three months later that Joel agrees that it’s time for you to meet Sarah. You’re not sure why it takes him so long to make that decision, but you try not to think about it too much or else you start to panic and you promised Joel that you would trust him more and this is one of those moments where you just need to tell your brain to ‘shut up’ and trust him. So, you trust him.

It’s a Friday evening. You pick him up from the diner and walk the short trip with your hands intertwined. You can feel the sweat pooling on his palms, despite the cool spring weather, but you don’t let go.

You’ve been to his apartment before, many times in fact, but it’s so different when it’s not just the two of you. Walking into high-pitched giggles and the low groan of the old stand mixer that usually sits dormant on Joel’s counter is odd, but it feels right– like this is how it’s always supposed to be.

Your heart is racing. He pulls you into the apartment and you see her for the first time.

Her light brown curls bounce, confined near her temples by the two butterfly clips in them, as she jumps up and down in her sparkly pink, plastic, princess heels that clack obnoxiously on the tiled floor of the kitchen. She’s wearing a pink, long-sleeved shirt– the red top of Elmo’s head just barely peeking out of the top of her jean overalls. Her tawny-brown, chubby cheeks are pulled taught by her unending smile. She looks just like the numerous pictures Joel has shown you with pride in his eyes, but now, in front of you, she is real.

And it doesn’t scare you. It excites you.

“Papi, is that you,” you hear a graveled, feminine voice cut through the static-filled radio that’s attached to the underside of the cabinet.

And now you’re scared.

Not only is Joel’s little girl in front of you, but so is his mother. Her dark brown hair, already graying at the roots despite her young age of forty-five, is pulled into a braid that runs all the way down to her lower back. She has a blue dress on with intricate white floral designs on the skirt, long and flowing. It moves gracefully as she glides around the kitchen. In a weird way, it is so obvious that Joel is her son.

Sarah’s eyes light up when she spots her dad, hands flying over her head.

“Daddy!”

Joel’s nervous demeanor is quickly discarded, leaving a smile in its wake.

“Guppy!”

She runs to her father, heels clacking and hair bouncing, and slams into his calves. Wrapping her arms around his legs, she squeezes with a grunt. All Joel does is chuckle at her violent affection.

From her position attached to her father’s legs, she turns her head towards you with her eyebrows crossed and a frown on her face, “Who’s that, Daddy?”

You sit on your calves to get down to her level and tell her your name with a smile, “It’s really nice to meet you.”

You’re good with kids. It’s why you wanted to be a teacher in the first place, besides the joy you got from sharing your knowledge. You used to babysit for your neighbors constantly (which was a good way to make money, but also an excuse to leave the house when your dad was having one of his really bad days). So, you should be good with Sarah. Right?

Joel nudges her off of him and kneels down to her level as well, “She’s my girlfriend.”

He doesn’t beat around the bush, doesn’t talk around it, because his little girl is smart and he wants to tell her the truth.

She looks you up and down suspiciously with her big brown eyes, “Girlfriend?”

“Yeah, baby. She’s my friend that I kiss sometimes.”

Her face scrunches up in disgust, “Ew!”

You copy her expression and whisper, “It is kinda gross sometimes.”

She looks you up and down with her eyebrows furrowed. For a second, you think she might be offended by you calling her father gross; based on what Joel has told you about her, you thought she would appreciate a joke at her dad’s expense, but maybe she didn’t when it came from someone she didn’t know–

Her face lights up and she starts to giggle, hands pulling at her father’s shirt.

“You’re gross, Daddy.”

He looks down at his clothes, covered in grease and sweat and laughs, “I guess I am.”

“I wonder how I can get clean,” he draws out, tapping his chin as if in deep thought. He scoops her up into his arms and starts to rub his face and hair, covered in grime from a long shift at the diner, all over her overalls.

She screeches, her laugh boiling over and filling the little living room. Her smile is radiant.

“Daddy, put me down!” She pushes at his shoulders with her tiny hands, which, of course, doesn’t move Joel an inch, but she continues pushing as hard as she can.

“But, you said I was gross! I’m just trying to fix it!”

“You’re makin’ me gross!”

“What?!”

She looks desperately over at you, grin taking over her chubby face, and reaches for you with the arm that isn’t restrained by Joel, “Help!”

“I’ll help you!” You stand up, grab her arm, and pull lightly, making sure not to hurt her.

“He’s too strong,” you cry out dramatically.

Her voice bounces as Joel jostles her around, “Ask him to stop! Politely!”

She adds “politely”, as if she’s repeating a mantra she’s held close to her heart. It’s endearing and it makes your heart ache for the kindness that Joel has taught and shown his daughter.

You oblige her. “Gross man, can you please let go of the princess?”

He stops suddenly, placing her down on the ground with a stomp of her feet. She prances away from him and over to you, hiding behind your legs.

“Anything for the Queen,” he salutes to you and looks at Sarah with sympathy in his eyes, “I’m sorry, Princess. I thought that you wanted me to get clean.”

She giggles again, wiping her hands down the bib of her overalls, “Daddy, you have to get clean in the shower!”

He throws his hands up in the air, “The shower?! Why didn’t you just say that?”

She copies her dad, throwing her hands up in the air, laughing still.

Turning to you, she curtsies, emulating lifting a skirt with her hands, “Thank you, kind lady for saving me. I’ll ‘emem- ‘emember this.”

She struggles with the word ‘remember’, nose scrunching as she knows she isn’t saying it right, but can’t quite get the syllables around her tongue.

“Anything for the Princess,” you curtsy back at her with your real dress.

Silent up to this point, Joel’s mom finally decides to put her two cents in.

“I like your boots, mija.”

You look down at your feet and see those gorgeous cowboy boots with the embroidered lavender sprigs and the lavender leather on the sides and you’re reminded how much Joel loves you– that this is a moment to celebrate, not to ruin with your overthinking. Joel adores his mother and Sarah– it is a privilege to meet these people.

“Oh, thank you, Mrs. Miller! Joel got them for me for my birthday.”

She smirks and winks at you, “I know, I helped him pick them out.”

She throws a towel over her shoulder and pops a tray in the oven. Joel and Sarah are talking behind you in soft voices. You can’t really make out what they’re saying, but you don’t really mind. Whatever made Sarah the most comfortable in this situation is good with you.

“Well, they’re beautiful. Thank you for helping him.”

Shutting the oven door with her hip, she pulls another tray from the counter and places it on top of the stove. She does all of this while making direct eye contact with you, like she is so familiar with the space that she could move around it with her eyes closed.

“I help papi with whatever he needs and he doesn’t know the first thing about what a girl likes– that’s why I buy all of Sarah’s clothes… and don’t call me Mrs. Miller– makes me feel older than I am. Call me Essie.”

Your face heats up, “Okay, Essie.”

“Momma–”

“You–” she points at Joel, stern look on her face– “are late.”

Joel looks so guilty, you almost think he’s killed someone. “I’m sorry, Momma. Don kept me later than usual.”

“Only reason I’m mad is that you took my time away from meeting your beautiful girl.” She walks up to you and hugs you.

Oh.

You stiffen, not because the hug is unwelcome, it is very welcome, but because you can’t remember the last time you’d been hugged by anyone but Elaine and Joel– by a mother.

And you can feel all the softness of a mother that you never got to have pour through her and to you. You know she knows about what happened to your mom; Joel tells his momma everything, but you hadn’t expected her to be this kind to you. Because you’re you, of course you had expected the worst, that she would hate you, tell you to get away from her son, tell you that you weren’t good enough, but here she is, showing you all the gentleness that she had taught her son to show others. You relax into it.

An embrace can say a thousand words, and you think this one says a thousand and one.

You can feel the heat on your face climbing further down and into your chest, straight to your heart.

“Sorry, Momma,” he mumbles.

She lets go of you and you feel the loss of her. You hope that she’ll show you her kindness again– you crave that affection.

“It’s okay–” she grabs your face and puts her forehead to yours– “You’re here now.”

Her dress swishes behind her as she returns to the kitchen to continue her cooking.

“Thomas is coming over,” she yells, her voice cracking slightly at the end with the effort.

Joel’s eyes go wide, “What?”

Sarah screeches, jumping up and down, which just seems to be her blanket response to excitement, “Uncle Tommy!”

Essie laughs, her whole face lighting up with the force of it, “Your brother wanted to meet your girl.”

You’ve heard lots of things about Tommy from Joel: how he gets regularly arrested for starting fights with people, how determined and head strong he was, how much he loved Sarah, and how massive of a flirt he was. At 17-years-old, Joel’s younger brother was a huge pain in his ass, but he loved him regardless.

“So he invited himself?”

She shakes her head, “No, toro, I invited him when I told him my plans for today before he went to school.”

“But–”

A knock on the door interrupts his protest. There’s the jingle of a key and then the door slams open with a kick.

“Hello, brother!”

Joel’s face falls into a blank stare, “Hello.”

Sarah, ever the aggressive greeter, runs to her uncle with a scream, “Tom-Tom!”

“Sarah,” he yells as he picks her up and spins her around in his arms. Her screeches turn into rambunctious laughter.

Tommy is a handsome young man. He has the same unruly brown curls that Joel does, but his are more structured and lay more securely on the top of his head, unlike Joel’s where it cascades down to his neck. Big, brown eyes and strong, dark eyebrows make him look more innocent than he actually is. He’s got a flannel and a stained wife-beater on.

“Nene, I told you to dress nicely,” Essie yells, leaning out on the entryway to the kitchen.

Tommy’s confident look quickly fades from his face, the same guilty look his brother had just sported taking over, “I’m sorry, Momma.”

She hums and goes back to the kitchen.

“Shit,” tumbles out of Tommy’s mouth.

“Sh–” Sarah starts to repeat, before Tommy claps a hand over her mouth. You can hear her giggling from behind his hand.

“Tommy!”

“Sorry, man, I didn’t mean to– ack, gross,” he exclaims as Sarah licks his palm.

He deposits her onto the ground and she runs into the kitchen, screaming. He rubs his hand on his dirty jeans.

“Tommy. This is my girlfriend,” he sighs, telling him your name, which Tommy repeats as he takes your hand in his (not the one that was just licked by Sarah) and kisses your hand.

“Well, seems you already know my name, sweetheart. It’s a pleasure to meet you after all these months of Joel talkin’ ‘bout ya.”

What you wouldn’t give to be a fly-on-the-wall when Joel talked about you. You knew he’d never speak badly of you– he never spoke badly of anyone, including Tommy–, but you were curious what he could possibly be saying to them, especially the young man in front of you.

“It’s nice to meet you too, Tommy.”

He drops your hand lightly and looks over at his brother. You think you see him wink, but you’re choosing to ignore whatever you just saw. You do, however, see the blush crawling back up Joel’s neck, as you turn back to him.

Joel takes your hand in his. You lace your fingers through his and squeeze lightly, an acknowledgement of his social awkwardness.

“Well, I’m gonna go see if I can help Momma with dinner, see if she can forgive me for dressin’ like an idiot.”

Joel’s lips form a line, “See ya.”

“Oh, brother, you’ve outdone yourself. Don’t know how you managed it.” He points to you, turns on his heel, and walks to the other room.

“I’m sorry about him,” Joel mutters, eyes downcast to the floor.

You shrug, “It’s okay. He seems nice.”

Guiding your shoulder towards him so that you’re fully facing him, he kisses your forehead, “Tell me if this is all too much, okay? Meetin’ my whole immediate family at once is a lot.”

You shake your head, “Joel, I am honored that I get to meet them. It’s a little overwhelming, but I can handle myself– don’t worry about me.”

“Okay, sugar,” he sighs into your hair.

The rest of the night goes off without a hitch. Sarah spends the whole meal screeching and throwing food at her dad. Tommy spends the whole meal laughing at Sarah throwing food at her dad. Joel patiently reminds Sarah that she’s not supposed to throw food, which, of course, she doesn’t listen to and continues to throw food at her dad. And you and Essie are in your own little world, discussing everything from your schooling to how she grew up in Columbia, but met Joel’s father when she moved to the States in 1970. She is an amazing listener and an engaging storyteller, face clearly displaying her emotions as she tells you about her brilliant life so far.

Joel tells you on your walk back to your dorm that he’s pretty sure that his mom likes you more than him now. You joke that you like her better than him too. He groans, “My momma’s gonna take my girl from me.”

“Your girl?”

“Yeah, sugar, my girl.”

✦ ✦ ✦

April 1995

“Are you ever gonna hang out with me again,” Elaine whines, watching you pull a flannel out of your closet and stuff it in your bookbag next to your books that you’re bringing to study with. It was Joel’s, but it was starting to lose his scent and you were going to demand he wear it tonight so that the leather smell would seep back into the fabric.

“Lane, we hang out all the time.”

Hair fanned out below her in a halo of sorts, Elaine lays on her bed with her head off the side, feet in the air. She scoffs and throws her hands up in exasperation.

“No! That’s not true! You are never here on the weekends anymore and that’s when all the good parties are going on.”

You deadpan, “When have I ever gone to parties with you?”

“You went to some parties!”

“I went to one party and left an hour in because I got completely overwhelmed and started crying after one drink.”

“Okay… but that was freshman year and I bet you could hold your booze much better now that you’re legal.”

“Elaine, baby, sweet girl, love of my life, I do not want to go to a party.”

She pouts and crosses her arms, “Yeah, you wanna go hang out with your boy and his four-year-old all weekend.”

You clear your throat and mutter, “Actually, Sarah is staying with her abuela this weekend.”

Elaine gasps, flipping around and sitting up on all fours, “No fucking way.”

“Yes fucking way,” you reply flatly.

“You are going to be in Joel’s apartment all weekend. Just the two of you.”

“Yup.”

“All by yourselves. For an entire weekend.”

“You just said the exact same thing twice and my answer is still yes.”

She bounds over to you and grabs your face in her hands, “Oh, my sweet baby, you are getting your brains fucked out all weekend, aren’t you?”

“Good god, Lane,” you shake her hands off her face and continue your packing.

She hops in place a couple times, her wild hair doing flips as she does, “You are, aren’t you?! Oh my god. This is so great, I cannot wait for you to tell me every detail when you get back.”

You glare at her for a moment and shake your head, “Fine.”

She shrieks, throwing her arms up in the air and running around your small shared room like she’s doing a victory lap.

Pumping a fist in the air, she flops backwards onto her bed and stares at the ceiling, face suddenly serious. But, you’re used to this by now, her mood changes like the wind– she has some of the most intense ADHD you’ve ever seen.

She raises her hand up.

You sigh, “Yes, Elaine?”

“I have a question.”

She sits up again, hands fidgeting in her lap, “What are you gonna do about Joel when you go back to Seattle for the summer?”

“I–” Oh.

You’d been thinking about summer break constantly since the moment you started dating Joel. It’s been a looming threat over everything you two have shared over the past 6 months, a near-constant reminder that you’ll be leaving to go back to your dad’s house in less than a month. You’d just pushed it to the back of your mind. No one ever mentioned it, so you just never brought it up.

But now that Elaine is here, sitting in front of you, confronting you with something you’ve been avoiding for months, it hits you like a ton of bricks.

“I don’t know.” You sink down into your desk chair, bag slapping on the tile at your feet.

“You really like him– don’t you, baby girl?”

You nod, staring at the floor. Two years of living in these dorms and you’d never noticed how uneven the tile was. You feel your heart beating in your ears.

“You know, you could stay with me and my parents this summer?”

“No, no, I don’t wanna bother them.”

She purses her lips, “Well… I kind of already asked them and they said that it was okay.”

You gasp, turning towards her, “What?”

“Yeah, baby, it’d be like a whole summer of sleepovers, except y’know, you’d have your own room.”

Elaine’s parents were cattle farmers. They owned a small ranch just outside of Austin with a wide expanse of land and multiple small houses throughout. Elaine didn’t live with her parents– she lived in her own small farmhouse about a quarter of a mile down the dirt road that ran through their property. You’d been there before; it was beautiful.

And not having to go back to Seattle: that would be great. If last summer was any indication of your dad’s excitement at you coming home, you had been dreading what this summer would bring.

But here’s an out. A way to avoid your father and his horrible rage. A way to stay near Joel and Sarah. A way to celebrate Sarah’s birthday with her in July like she’d been begging you to.

“Maybe.”

She grins, hands still fidgeting in her lap, but more aggressively like she’s trying to hold herself back from a big reaction to your “maybe”, which you both know just means “yes”.

“Thank you.”

“Don’ even mention it, baby. You’re the love of my life– I couldn’ bear another summer without you.”

Later that evening you're talking to Joel in his apartment over dinner, candles lit between you, Joel snug in your favorite flannel of his. You tell him about Elaine’s idea. He insists that you take her up on her offer. You send her a text that you’re going to stay. She replies with, “!!!” and then another text a few minutes later that reads, “go get sum, bb ;)”.

You make sure Joel can’t see that text.

When you’re done with dinner, you’re doing dishes together. He’s washing, you’re rinsing and drying. When you have dinner here, you switch who does what task– it keeps it fair, that’s what Joel had said when you started coming here a few months ago.

You can’t believe it’s been months with this amazing man. It makes you giddy: that time seems to pass so quickly with him.

He’s been quiet– well, more quiet than usual today. You think it might just be that he misses Sarah, but that theory quickly becomes dust when he finally starts to speak.

He clears his throat and breaks your comfortable silence.

“Talked to Tommy today.”

“Oh, yeah?”

He sniffs, “Yeah.”

“And what exactly did you two talk about?”

You know Joel and Tommy have never exactly gotten along. When you’d met Tommy the month before, that had been blatantly obvious. Joel loved Tommy. They both knew it– they’d never say it out loud though. But, their “talking” usually involved Tommy rambling about whatever he wanted and Joel grunting every other sentence so that he knew that he was still listening.

“He, uh– he says he’s gonna join the army.”

Your head whips towards him, “What?!”

He flattens his lips into a line and sniffs again, nodding.

“Was he fucking with you?”

That wasn’t an uncommon occurrence with Tommy. He regularly said things he knew would make Joel upset just to mess with him. Once, he had told Joel that his girlfriend at the time was pregnant just after his 17th birthday. Joel didn’t talk to him for a couple weeks after that.

He shakes his head, putting the sponge down into the lukewarm water.

Exasperated, you sigh, “Did he say why?”

“Says he wants to honor Dad or somethin’.”

You’d had discussions about Joel’s dad before. They were few and far-between, mostly because it was obvious that his father made him uncomfortable. He had died just six months after Sarah had been born– lung cancer caused by twenty-five years of smoking a pack a day, according to Joel.

Mark was a Vietnam veteran, left home at 18 to join the war effort. He’d met Essie when he was discharged with a prosthetic limb and a purple heart in 1970. Joel doesn’t know exactly what had happened to his dad in Vietnam, but he knew it was bad. He would wake up in the middle of the night to his dad screaming in his sleep– telling someone to move and then begging God to let his friend live.

Joel says he was terrified of his father, that he treated him like a “man” before he was old enough to have coherent conversations. What that meant was beyond you, but you understood that he wasn’t ready to talk about it and you were willing to wait. You would always wait.

“Do you– do you think he’s going to do it?”

He sighs, massaging his temples, “’M not sure. He… seemed pretty determined.”

Picking the sponge out of the water, he goes back to scrubbing, but now he’s doing it rougher, sponge squashed in his hand, dish squeaking aggressively. His eyebrows are scrunched together and you think you see a glint of something shiny in his eyes.

“Miller, what’s going on in that head of yours?”

He hands you the plate he was maiming to rinse and dry. You do so as he collects his thoughts.

Two more dishes are washed and dried before he says anything.

“Dad was a lot more gentle on Tommy than he ever was on me. He treated Tommy like his son, but he treated me like a soldier. Tommy had a dad, I had a General.”

He avoids eye contact with you as he continues.

“I think Tommy idolizes him too much, especially now that he’s gone and he never really saw the version of Dad that I did. The traumatized veteran.”

His shoulders shake as he sobs, choking on his words, “I don’t want Tommy to end up like Dad.”

Fuck, if that didn’t make you want to sob too. You hold yourself together for him, at least you try to. You can feel your emotions climbing up your throat, desperate to choke out of you.

You put a hand on his bicep and lean on his shoulder. The dirty water splashes when the sponge falls back into it, flicking water up and onto both of your shirts

A tear escapes his eye and lands on the top of your head, soaking into your hair. 

“Did you tell him that?”

Another sob claws out of his mouth, “Yeah. He wouldn’ listen.”

“Well, baby, you did all you could do. Seems like there’s no stopping him.”

He doesn’t say anything. His wet hand wraps around your forearm and pulls it around his back so that you’re hugging him. You squeeze your arms around his waist as he runs his fingers through your hair, clings on to the strands and guides your head to his neck. You can feel the dish water from his hands soaking into your scalp.

You press a kiss to the skin under your lips and he sighs, pulling you in even closer.

“Things will work out. Whatever happens, I’m always here.”

He nods his head into your shoulder. A high-pitched whine tumbles out of his lips involuntarily.

“It’ll be okay.”

Shit.

✦ ✦ ✦

July 1995

Friday, July 14th, 1995 marks Sarah’s fifth birthday. She invites all her friends from preschool and Joel invites everyone he knows would want to be there for his daughter. Joel told you that he had gone to text Tommy to invite him, forgetting that his brother had left for basic training a month ago. He sent him a text anyway– asking him how he was doing. He hadn’t gotten a response yet.

When you walked into the apartment, with the key that Joel had given you a month ago, to help Joel and Essie set up the party this morning, Sarah had stopped you at the door with a smirk on her face and something held behind her back.

“Hello, Queen Sugar!” She curtsies to you with her large puffy, pink dress that Essie had painstakingly spent the last month making her.

You curtsy back with your own dress, the purple sundress you had worn to the beach all those months ago, “Hello, Princess Sarah! May I come in?”

You really know she’s up to something when her smirk turns into a maniacal grin.

“No.”

Hm. Where the hell is Joel?

You get down on your knees so that you’re eye-level with her, “Why not, your highness?”

She finally pulls whatever is behind her back out and holds it out to you. It’s the silver plastic crown with the pink jewels that she had worn on her fourth birthday. The one she wears whenever she’s feeling particularly royal. It’d been slightly too big for her then, but it fit her like a glove now. 

“Because you aren’t wearing your crown yet. And you know it’s improper to attend a social event as the queen without your crown!”

Well, you didn’t know that. But you knew now. Joel’s doormat was really uncomfortable to kneel on.

“Well, of course, your highness, how could I forget that?”

She nods her head once resolutely.

“But I must ask, why aren’t you wearing a crown?”

She puts her hands on her hips, “I’ve decided that since it is your first Guppy birthday, your majesty, that you must wear the crown! It’s only fair that I share.”

Holding the crown out in front of her, she declares with determination, “All hail, Queen Sugar!”

You hear Essie’s graveled voice call through the apartment behind Sarah, “Mariposa, come help your abuela with decorating your cookies!”

She plops the crown on your head and runs into the apartment, leaving the door wide open. Well, so much for decorum.

“Hey, sugar.” A hand pops into your vision from the stairs beside you.

He’s got a couple bags of decorations in his left arm and is holding out the other for you to take.

“Hey,” you groan as he pulls you up onto your feet, “You want some help?”

“Nah, I got it.” He urges you inside with a wave of his hand and he walks in behind you.

The furniture that usually is cluttered around his living room is pushed to the walls, so that there’s more space for the kids to play. You notice a basket full of her toys sits in wait in the corner of the room, filled past the brim with pink.

“Lovin’ the crown, baby,” he smiles, setting the paper bags on the couch.

It’s crooked, askew from Sarah’s hasty exit.

“Thanks. Apparently I wasn’t allowed to attend a public event without one because it was ‘improper’.” You put quotes on the last words with your fingers.

“Well, if the princess says…” Coming around the side of the couch, he stands in front of you. You look up at him through your lashes as he adjusts the crown so it sits straight on your head. He’s done it enough with his little girl to know how to get it just right so the tight plastic doesn’t dig into your scalp.

“Thank you,” you whisper and press a chaste kiss to his lips.

He chuckles, snaking his arms around your waist, “Anything for the queen.”

You hum as he presses another kiss to your lips, longer this time, soft. You love these moments with Joel– the ones where he’s put himself in the moment, so that he isn’t thinking about the millions of things he needs to get done. But really, you love every moment you get to have with Joel.

“Daddy!” Sarah’s running into the living room with frosting smeared on her hands and all across her cheek and Joel puts himself to work getting it off her in the bathroom as you start to pull decorations out of the bags. Her birthday party this year is Sesame Street themed. When Joel had suggested it to her, she had jumped around the room screeching about all the decorations she needed and where to put them and how she needed to invite Elmo now so he would get his invitation on time. You had been in charge of the return letter from Elmo where he reluctantly declined her invitation with a crude drawing of himself in the bottom corner (Joel didn’t stop laughing at how horrible it looked for a week afterwards, “He looks like he got run over by a semi, baby.”). She wrote him back saying she understood and drew a heart and a smiley face at the bottom.

“Elaine’s gonna be late, she got held up with something.” You tell Joel as you hand him a freshly-blown balloon. He’d gotten the frosting off Sarah and then urged her into a nap so that she could be at full energy for her party.

He chuckles, “Oh, really? And what was that?”

Rolling your eyes, you sigh with a grin, “Robin.”

The mean blonde you had met in November in your dorm room after finding out about Sarah has been slowly worming her way into your heart. While you’ve been spending most of your summer with Joel, Elaine’s been spending most of her’s with Robin, who had stayed on campus this break to take summer classes. At first you’d been hesitant to encourage the relationship, Robin hadn’t made a very good impression, but Elaine seemed really happy, happier than you’d seen her in your entire friendship, and Robin’s grumpy attitude was growing on you.

“Good for her.”

“Yeah, good for her, but not so good for my sleep schedule.”

Turns out living in a house alone with Elaine all summer was great, except for the fact that the walls were a little too thin for your liking. You’d been learning a bit more about Elaine’s sex life than you wanted to know.

You watch as Joel attempts to wrap the string around the knot on the balloon with little success, his large fingers getting in the way of themselves.

“Gimme,” you mumble, holding your hand out.

He reluctantly hands the balloon and string over with a bashful smile.

Deftly, you string the balloon and watch it rise to the ceiling as you let it go. It wobbles back and forth and then finally stays in place.

“You could stay here tonight if you wanted? You’ve got those extra clothes you left in my drawer just in case.”

The drawer.

The drawer had been a very big deal to you when he first offered it casually one night when you’d realized you had forgotten to bring an outfit for the next day. 

“You already left a toothbrush here, just leave a couple outfits here too. I’ll clear a drawer for you.”

Joel was very confused when you had started to cry. Through heaving breaths and tears you had explained to him that you had never been given a drawer before.

It didn’t help that you were PMSing really bad that day (which had been the entire reason you had come over in the first place).

You give him a smile, “Yeah?”

“Yeah, baby.”

You know there won’t be any sex, Joel made it pretty clear the first time you had stayed here when Sarah was home that he was not comfortable with that while she was in the apartment. The wall's thinness didn’t leave anything to the imagination and her room was right next to his. That was okay though, you enjoyed sleeping on the heater that was Joel Miller and that was good enough for you.

“Okay.” You stand up and give him a kiss on the cheek.

He pats your ass as you walk towards the kitchen. You send him a glare back with a smirk.

Everyone starts arriving at four, except your best friend, and you watch as Joel tries his best to wrangle six toddlers to do the activities that he’d planned. He bought some coloring books and told the kids to bring their own crayons because he had thought that maybe that would be a calming activity, but as you had predicted two weeks ago when he told you his plan, it had quickly devolved into drawing on the fold out table and somehow finding markers and drawing on each other. You helped him toss the drawing stuff in his room when the kids were distracted by Sarah telling the story of how you had almost “improperly” walked into her birthday party without your crown on. The kids thought she was hilarious.

Sarah is instantly captivated when Elaine walks through the door, like everyone is when they first meet her.

“Your hair is so pretty,” Sarah squeals, balancing on the balls of her feet.

Elaine gasps, a smile lighting up her face as she hands you her bag to put in Joel’s room, “Oh my god, your hair is so pretty too, baby girl.”

“I’m Sarah Esperanza Miller.” She recites her full name with a smile on her face, proud of her name.

Elaine holds her hand out for her to take, “Hi, Sarah. I’m Elaine Jo MacKenzie.”

She perks up, her whole body suddenly standing at attention. “Wait here!”

Elaine grabs your elbow and pulls you into her body, giving you a light kiss on the cheek while you both watch Sarah run to her room across the house– weaving and dodging through the crowd. She peeks around your body to look at Joel, a dreamy grin on her face.

“She’s beautiful, Joel.”

He smiles, running a hand through his hair, “Thank you.”

She looks up at you, “You’re a lucky motherfucker.”

You laugh lightly, “I know.”

She adjusts the crown on your head.

“It’s crooked,” she explains, nodding when she determines that it’s perfect.

You nuzzle your nose into her hair; it smells like strawberries.

“Thank you.”

When Sarah comes back, she’s hiding something behind her back, an excited smile taking over her chubby cheeks.

She goes to Elaine, pulling her arm out of your own and down so she’s kneeling in front of her.

“Can I touch your hair?”

Joel sighs, “Baby, that’s not–”

Elaine doesn’t break eye contact with her as she answers her, “Of course, you can. Thank you for asking. That was really polite.”

Sarah looks up to her dad, silently asking him for permission and he nods his head.

“As long as she says ‘yes’, then it’s okay.”

Elaine nods too when she turns back to her and Sarah tucks Elaine’s puffy mess of hair behind her ear and sticks a small, pink butterfly clip just above her ear. Joel recognizes it as her favorite hair accessory, one of the only ones that Joel can easily style her hair with.

Elaine gasps, jumping up and finding the nearest mirror, and smiles when she sees herself in it. She delicately adjusts the clip so that it is more secure. “Oh, baby girl, I love it! Thank you!”

Sarah giggles uncontrollably, “I knew it would look pretty on you!”

“Well, of course, you knew– you’re a genius, baby!”

She kneels back on the ground and holds her arms out, an invitation for a hug. Sarah runs into her arms and she huffs with the force of her tiny body colliding with her chest.

You knew that Sarah would love Elaine; her eccentric joy was so magnetic that this automatic connection between the two of them just made sense. She had always made friends easily, but Elaine was an expert at entertaining children.

Sarah runs off to go play with her friends, so Elaine comes back up to take your arm again.

“Hey, we’re matching,” she points out, flicking the big jewel on the crown on your head.

“We are.”

Elaine’s eyes soften as she looks down at you, always taller than you when she actually straightened out her spine (which she so rarely did).

“Sarah’s girls.”

You nod.

Sarah’s girls.

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